


Smoke Rising

by Sighanide



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Supernatural Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Sam Winchester, Angst, Awkward Castiel, Awkward Sam, Big Brother Dean, Big Brother Gabriel, Canon-Typical Depression, Clueless Sam, Everyone Has Issues, Flirting, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel, Hunter Castiel, Hunter Gabriel, M/M, Protective Dean, Protective Gabriel, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sighanide/pseuds/Sighanide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When any hunter worth their salt hears the name Novak, trouble is usually the word that comes to mind first. Sure, there's a lot of things that Gabriel and his little brother Castiel have done to deserve a reputation like that, but it still seems a bit unfair. Yeah, they've got their flaws, but what's a little alcoholism, antisociality, and amnesia to seasoned hunters like them? It's not like they had anything to do with Gabriel's suspicious resurrection from down under. They're really just trying to get by. They're even doing a damn good job of it, all the way right up until the flawed angels Samuel and Dean are tossed at them under the guise of being human. Still, it seems like there are some things even angels can't heal. It'll take a lot more than three simple words that neither angels can seem to quite get out to save both brothers- especially when it'll only take one to end everything.</p><p>Production is currently at a standstill, but will continue come March.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thing is, you never know when your life's about to take a turn. You don't see someone and think, "Wow. That person's going to change my life." Things sure would be a hell of a lot easier if you could, though.

**Chapter 1- Gas 'N Sip**

 

               Castiel's fingers clacked over the keys. The repetitive patterns his fingers needed to take to type the same mind-numbing keywords through an endless cycle of Google searches was everything but inconsistent. And just as consistently, the results were virtually indecipherable. It was the same endless flood of eyewitness accounts of the paranormal given by the same group. You had the downright crazies, a few scammers trying to attract tourists to some backwoods town with some shitty campfire legend, the college kids that'd had a bit too much of whatever was in their cup. All of that, but only the occasional potential for a case sprinkled among the masses. Even to an eye so seasoned as his, it was nearly impossible to spot an actual case immediately.

               Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

               Nothing caught his attention while he cycled through another round of keywords the repeated the phrase "ghost sighting" twenty different ways.

               It was a menial and dreaded task that he'd been assigned- coerced, really- to do before he'd ever actually been allowed on hunts. He wasn't all that patient of a man, but next to his brother, his virtue was comparable to that of a saint. Whenever Gabriel was forced into researching, Castiel took it to himself to take over to end his brother's complaints. There really was a reason he was a better researcher, despite his undying hatred for the job.

               Speaking of jobs, if he'd done his correctly, they were headed after a banshee halfway across the county in some backwater part of friggin' Utah, of all places.

               It was a tedious start to begin such a day, yet both both brothers were so blissfully unaware of the storm on the horizon. Sitting in the front seat of their inherited car, blasting the best of eighties pop anthems, Castiel sending a glare Gabriel's way every once in a while when his screeching along became too much to stand? That was the sort of thing they were both familiar with. So much had changed, but some things felt like they never would. 

               Of course, they were wrong. Things did change, sometimes unimaginably so.

               But for now?

               Now, things were not fine, but they could pretend at least pretend that they were. 

               The truth was oftentimes ugly and there was enough ugliness in the world, plenty of which they faced every day. It didn't seem logical to add to it, they'd reasoned. Or at least, that was what they'd been taught, stupid as it so often seemed. But that was their code and they lived by it, day and night. So, yes, they could pretend like Gabriel still smiled the same after he'd returned from Hell. Castiel could pretend that he was happy down to the very darkest depths of his heart that Gabriel was returned, could ignore the sins he'd indulged in without his brother to hold him back with plights of humanity. They could pretend like Gabriel's humanity was totally intact, that whatever had scarred and rebuilt and resurrected him wasn't still around and no longer mattered, not when they'd finally been reunited. They could pretend that their relationship was one not based on lies and false smiles and self-destructive tendencies.

               If they could pretend that everything was perfectly alright, then they would.

               Castiel, however, couldn't pretend that the speed they were tearing down the highway was anything but unsafe. He was long since used to such a thing, of course. Hell, their speedometer was probably inaccurate anywhere below eighty miles an hour. Thing was, he was in a foul mood. Five harrowing hunts in quick succession, less than his prerequisite of seven hours of sleep nightly, and the fact that he'd been running on nothing but instant gas station coffee for three days straight hadn't done any wonders for his mood.

               So, it was with great irritation that he took a break from research to open up his email, only to find that it'd been overloaded with spam from Gabriel's preferred porn sites. His laugh, almost deranged, predictably drew the last of his brother's attention from the road.

"Gabriel, what have I told you about my personal computer?" Castiel asked, sounding so perfectly calm it had an almost chilling effect.

               He wasn't humored with a reply. Instead, his older brother answered with a victorious grin. 

_"Gabriel,"_ Castiel repeated, a riot built behind a single word.

"What?"

"I don't touch your things. All I've ever asked is that you return the favor."

"Who said I touched your shit? Could've been a ghost."

               Castiel looked like he was about to personally damn Gabriel to hell a second time. He probably would've, right up until he glanced back up to the road to see the semi-truck roaring straight towards them. He shrieked in time to the screech of a symphony of horns, the sound sending his brother's wide eyes jerking back towards the road.

"Turn!"

                The car swerved violently as the squeal of breaks pierced the air, but they'd be fools to think that they'd get out of the way in time. The truck was almost upon them, so close that they could see the driver inside. His lips were twisted into a foul grin, head quirked at an angle so sharp it suggested broken neck. Whether or not it was a spirit or a demon or something in between didn't matter. What mattered was that both brothers were going to end up as little more than a bloody smear on the pavement, their broken bodies sloppily scattered among twisted bits of metal and sharp pieces of shattered windshield.

                It wouldn't be a monster that got them in the end. They wouldn't go out in a big bang, back-to-back with guns in their hands and fire in their eyes. No, they'd die on the interstate by a car accident. Bobby would come to pick them up their pieces to burn them, but he'd probably miss a few. Gabriel knew in an instant that he'd be so pissed at such an ill-fated and shitty way to die that he'd probably come back to haunt the same damn strip of highway until someone put him to rest.

                Neither closed their eyes. Only one prayed. Both braced themselves.

                But the impact?

                It never came.

                There was no grand collision or explosion. There was nothing at all. There was only the horrible whiplash that came with the Impala's abrupt stop, which, for a brief moment, seemed like they'd been inflicted by the full impact of a battering ram.

               When it became apparent that they hadn't been hit, Gabriel blinked. He looked outside to find that the semi-trailer had vanished. 

               No, that wasn't right.

"Well, shit," Gabriel declared.

               Castiel reluctantly opened his eyes, prepared to look down at his mangled and disembodied corpse. Probably as a ghost. Instead, he was greeted by his very much alive and unharmed self, which confounded him more than why the semi-truck had been going the wrong way down the highway to begin with.

                He glanced to his brother to asses his state and came to the conclusion that either they hadn't been hit or he was just in some hallucinatory state of shock. Gabriel's eyes eventually slid over to meet his. A strange look was glued to his face, a mix of equal parts concern, shock, and relief.

                Only when he looked away again did Castiel move to follow his gaze.

                He found the truck. It hadn't swerved away to miraculously avoid them. Instead, it'd been thrown across five lanes of traffic all the way off the road. It had even gone a few yards into the forest beyond, taking down a layer of trees with it. It seemed to have rolled over multiple times, coming to rest on its side. On the side visible to them there was the distinct imprint of something smashing into it, crumpling the entire side like a tin can and leaving a deep pit at the point of contact. The thing looked like it'd been kicked by a giant or something.

"Did you see that happen?"

"No," Castiel responded, eyes still wide.

"Great. Well, we're not going to stick around to meet whoever the hell did that. Let's bounce."

"Yes, that seems like a wise course of action."

                They stared at the wrecked vehicle a moment longer still in states of shock. After Gabriel assured that they weren't being blatantly watched, he revved the engine and tore away from the scene, ignoring the protesting shouts and horns blaring after them.

                Standing off to the side, two bystanders watched them disappear into the distance. They weren't particularly conspicuous in the midst of the sea of witnesses who'd exited their cars with disbelief. Cars were scattered randomly in the middle of lanes. The buildup of traffic was already attracting more observers. 

"How subtle, Sam. Really. Great job," Dean drawled, scowling at the carnage he'd caused.

"Are you sure? I seem to have attracted lots of excess attention," Sam noted with furrowed brows, oblivious to the edge in his sibling's words.

              The smoking truck chose that moment to explode, sending shards of metal and glass raining down upon the crowd it had attracted. Dean's scowl deepened as he watched the humans dive for cover, shrieking. 

"I was being sarcastic," came his crisp reply.

"Oh."

                Dean sighed. He eyed the onlookers briefly, then snapped his fingers. Blank looks spread across their faces, travelling through the crowd like a plague. They blinked and shook their heads in confusion, trying to recall the reason that they'd stopped. One by one, they got back into their cars and drove off. The brothers stood unnoticed. They watched the traffic slowly dissipate another few minutes until Sam asked, 

"Does this happen often?"

"You wouldn't believe how often those idiots almost die. What do you think has been keeping me so busy the last years?"

               He snorted, then shoved his hands into his pockets. 

"What do you say we go and catch ourselves a couple of hunters, Sammy?"

               Sam nodded in agreement. Then Dean snapped his fingers and they were both gone.

 

_**Several Hours Later** _

 

               Gabriel swerved off the interstate, pulling into the eerily empty lot of a gas station. 

               They were silent, pensive. Other than a short debate about what the hell had gone down with that car, they'd remained quiet. Castiel had suggested that maybe whatever had risen him from Hell had saved them, though Gabriel had just groaned a curse. The younger Novak couldn't exactly blame him. Creatures only had vested interests in keeping them alive for their own gain.

               It didn't mean Castiel wasn't thankful to escape the car. He rocketed from it and into the station. The entire process was routine by then. Gabriel would fill the tank while he stocked them up on candy, snacks and whatever else was needed. 

               Only this time, there was a small interruption to their routine. The younger hunter had barely crossed the threshold of the store when Gabriel joined him. His brother swore about old fashioned gas pumps under his breath when he received a questioning glance.

               The shorter of the two had just slapped a fifty dollar bill onto the counter when the bell above the door rung once more. Instinctively, both Novaks glanced over. Two men entered, earning a low wolf whistle from Gabriel. 

               Castiel could see his brother's mood visibly brightening. He groaned quietly to himself upon seeing _that_ grin break out on his brother's face. Apparently even the threat of death wasn't enough to keep Gabriel from flirting with whatever poor soul he deemed attractive.

"Woah! Check out the angel who just walked in," Gabriel exclaimed.

               The compliment was all too fitting and for a moment, Sam had the fleeting hope that maybe it wasn't all gone. But it had to be. It didn't take much observation for Sam to confirm that. His next thought was that his cover was blown. He was stuck like a deer in headlights until Dean dismissively retorted,

"That's not what he means."

               Sam doesn't question him on what that was supposed to mean. Humans were confusing and it was unlikely Dean would explain it to him now.

               Naturally, Castiel followed the general direction of his brother's gaze. His eyes landed upon a man who had clearly been sculpted by the gods. For just a moment, the dirty blonde's eyes flickered to him. His lips tugged into a small smile before he turned back to his companion. After a long amount of incoherent thought, the younger sibling managed to blurt out-

"He is very attractive."

                Gabriel glanced at his brother, groaning when he realized Castiel was completely googling at the man who had followed the real eye candy in. He groaned, rebuking his little brother with,

"Really, Cas, the Ken Doll? You have crappy taste in guys." 

                The elder Novak redirected his brother's face towards the right man.

"That one, moron," Gabriel playfully corrected him. 

                Castiel shot the elder hunter a withering glare before properly examining the other newcomer, then promptly deciding he liked the green eyed man best. 

                Gabriel appreciatively stared at his real eye candy, an incredibly tall man garbed in plaid. He donned luscious brown hair almost like that of a Disney princess and hazel eyes that met his gaze with something that he couldn't quite place.

                The men had clearly overheard them speaking, though that hadn't been much of an accident. Castiel, always the socially awkward butterfly, wasn't aware of that. Controversially, Gabriel had purposefully spoken at a volume which would be conveniently overheard by the his Moose in Plaid and the Butch Blonde Ken Doll.

"They do realize we can hear them, right?" the taller confusedly questioned his smaller partner.

                 There was some sliver of amusement there, Gabriel noticed. He had something to work with. 

"The one in the trench coat thinks I'm cute," Dean murmured to Sam, grinning with delight. That was the right thing to say, he'd decided. He couldn't let it slip that he already knew who they were, after all.

                 Castiel wisely glanced away before anyone noticed the tinge of pink rising to his face.

                 Gabriel watched in amusement as the larger one sighed, giving his friend an annoyed look. The elder hunter ruffled Castiel's hair, earning himself a look of disdain. He "gently" nudged his brother forwards before sauntering towards the duo. He stopped short in front of the man who easily towered over him and shot him his winning smile.

                 The blond man gave him a rather suspicious look, but didn't verbally comment- though a stern look was directed towards the brunet.

"Gabriel Novak. And that nerd over there," Gabriel fondly stated, vaguely motioning to himself, then a disgruntled Castiel, "is my brother, Cas."

"Yeah, we know," Sam stated, lips quirking into a small smile. Dean glared at him. So much for trying to be subtle.

                 At Gabriel's inquiring look and raised brows, the man's face slowly went red. He stuttered out a few "uhs" and "ums," casting a desperate look towards Dean. He rolled his eyes, only swooping in to cover his brother's mistake when it became apparent that they'd be there a long time before Sam improvised a response.

"I can't bring him anywhere," he jokingly said, slapping his brother's back with more force than necessary. "He can't even get an easy pickup line right," he lightly explained to the hunter, casting his stare back to him to gauge his reaction.

                 Gabriel's brows didn't lower, but his lips went from a small frown to a smirk. That was good, right?

"I'm sure you'll get more chances..." Gabriel replied, pausing to allow Sam to introduce himself.

                  A silence followed while the angel waited in increasing confusion for Gabriel to finish his sentence, oblivious to why he'd trailed off. Upon realizing that the cue hadn't been interpreted, the blonde subtly jabbed his elbow into his brother's side.

"He wants your name," he quietly hissed, hoping the hunter wouldn't overhear.

"Oh! Uh, my name, yes. Um, I'm Samuel. This is my older brother, Dean," Sam blurted.

                  His face was approaching crimson, something he was fairly unacquainted with. He didn't particularly like the way it felt. It was something foreign- likely a consequence of inhabiting a vessel. 

"Samuel. Mind if I call you Sam?" Gabriel asked, rocking onto his heels.

                  Sam vigorously shook his head. Dean easily identified that his brother was going overkill with the few cues he'd learned. The archangel elbowed him once more as a warning. It would probably be beneficial if he did most of the talking from then forward.

                  Hoping to stray away from an awkward silence, he looked past Gabriel to the one who'd been dubbed a nerd- Castiel. It was the first time Dean had ever seen him in person, with his own eyes. Though he was attractive, Dean couldn't help but to think that he looked a bit... disheveled with his smattering of dark stubble, tousled hair, and the strange manner of dressing that Dean had seen from afar for so long. It was strange to see him this way. He looked different. More tired, yet more captivating. Alive.

                  Dean offered the brunet a bright smile. Gabriel followed Dean's gaze to his brother, grinning and motioning for his brother to join them.

                  Castiel groaned to himself once more, pleading and silently praying for the blond man not to encourage his brother any further. Upon realizing that Dean clearly hadn't read the message printed on his face (or even seen it, seeing as Castiel was still lingering by the counter with a plastic bag whose contents were ninety percent high fructose corn syrup), he stepped in. Maybe he could make a quick escape, although dragging his brother alongside him would be harder.

"Gabriel, we need to get back on the road," he evenly stated, approaching the three.

                  There was something a bit odd about the men. Castiel couldn't word what it was, but there was definitely something about them that was off.

"Nonsense, Cas! We don't have anywhere to be," Gabriel interjected, clapping his brother across the back with a pointed stare the younger hunter failed to interpret.

                  Castiel didn't aim his glare directly at his brother in fear of encouraging him any further, so he settled for glaring at a lifeless rack of magazines.

"You're incorrect," he countered in a tone gruff with pent-up annoyance. "We were on the way to a town in Utah, someplace outside of Salt Lake City. On work."

                  Gabriel gave an exasperated sigh, replying in a vaguely whiny voice.

"You're no fun, Cassie."

                  Castiel glanced at Dean once more. Sure, he was plenty attractive. Ridiculously so, even. And maybe even somewhat into him. But there was still something buried in unnaturally green eyes when he stared at him that made Castiel think that perhaps it'd be best if they left right there. The elder angel, sensing that they were about to lose them, responded quickly with,

"Small world. That's where we're headed."

                  Gabriel's face lit with a grin. As it was Castiel's job to be the one with the rationality to keep himself and his brother alive, he was more hesitant. It must've been clear to the men, because Sam rushed to support his brother's claim.

"Yeah, we're visiting family in the capital," he fervently stated.

                  It wasn't necessarily untrue, Sam mused. They were supposed to report back to another angel about their findings as soon as possible.

                  While was spoken a bit too eagerly with too much of a smile to be considered normal, Castiel had never been great with reading things like that. And Gabriel was too pleased with himself to notice. So the younger Novak reluctantly accepted it, making himself content with that tidbit of information.

"We ought to go out for drinks while we're there," Gabriel suggested. 

                  Sam enthusiastically nodded before his brother could get a word in. Dean, amused at the entire prospect of what the ordeal might offer, made no effort to stop him. It was the plan, after all.

                  Gabriel scribbled his phone number onto a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it off to Sam, who enthusiastically accepted. 

                  Castiel sighed, then dragged his brother back to their car despite his protests. 

                  Gabriel was in a brilliant mood after that, all traces of their close call forgotten. He blared an Asia song at full volume over the speakers, swatting Castiel's hand away whenever he tried to lower the volume. Castiel eventually accepted the arrangement, grumbling complaints about his brother under his breath. His brother's good moods were few and far between ever since his return from Hell.

                  Besides, with the meeting already arranged, all Castiel could do was stare out the window, unsure of whether he should be concerned about how this was going to turn out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here you have it! Chapter one of what's become a massive project of mine. And who would've guessed?
> 
> Anyways, please leave your suggestions and thoughts in the comments below!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean discovers Pork Rinds and Gabriel contemplates Castiel's wardrobe among other things.

**Chapter 2**

 

 

          Dean had observed many humans in his time. Hell, before interacting with Earth had gone off-limits, he’d walked among them. It was refreshing to be back. Many things had occurred in his absence. His eyes traveled to the racks of convenience junk store food that surrounded them. Perhaps there was something to be learned from the humans. For Dean, it was namely the manner of which they created food. 

 

“Might as well load up on snacks,” he cheerily declared.

 

          The blue eyed angel was juvenated from such a smooth interaction with the Novak brothers. With how the seals had been toppling over at alarming rates, any luck was something be treasured.

 

“I think I’ll pass,” Sam replied, suspiciously glancing at the hazardous food. Perhaps his brother was more than happy to poison himself, but the brunette was more hesitant.

 

          Sam disdainfully shuffled through the store while his brother flitted about. Everything appeared to be composed of saturated fats, pure sugar or hazardous chemicals with unappealing names. 

 

          Unlike his brother, the younger angel hadn’t ever been stationed on Earth. He'd supposedly been too young and inexperienced. Although he’d heard plenty of tales from his brothers and sisters and from those who watched humanity from afar, it had been quite different than his initial idea. It was a place that attracted ridiculous controversy. Earth was glorified and disgraced, depending on who was asked.

  
   
          It was neither of those things to Sam. The portrayals seemed more like caricatures. He almost felt… underwhelmed. A proper opinion was yet to be formed.

 

          His thoughts turned once more to the elder Novak. He had acted oddly… affectionate. Almost as if Gabriel had remembered him. An image of Hell, the place of their first encounters, abruptly conjured in Sam’s mind. The stench of sizzling flesh, the unbearable heat of an inferno, screams of tortured souls. The color of crimson running, dripping all throughout a prison made of flesh and bone and hatred. Sam suppressed a flinch as something… shot through him. It made him shudder, something sour rising in his throat. He believed the sensation was called revulsion. 

 

          Another memory of his brief time from the siege on Hell unleashed itself before he could lock those memories back in the untouched corner of his mind. This one was marginally more pleasant than trekking through a living nightmare. That was largely due to the detail that then angel wasn't experiencing Hell. Rather, Sam was listening to Gabriel relay his experiences with an expression of utter horror.

 

          He partially wished that he hadn’t ditched his overprotective brother in the chaos of the siege on Hell. It had been a move so incredibly stupid, no demon or angel alike had counted on it. Thus, Sam had snuck past everyone's forces in his barely successful attempt to rescue the Righteous Man. A sole angel on an unexpected, stupid mission. Dean had nearly killed him after Sam had returned to proudly announce to all angels,

 

“Gabriel Novak is saved!”

 

          Those times were simpler. Now things were different. The more Sam thought about Gabriel, the more confused he became.

 

          It was impossible that Gabriel remembered any of their interactions, so why had he been so friendly to someone who should be a complete stranger? It puzzled Sam to no end.

 

          Instinctively, the younger angel glanced about for his brother. He needed a distraction from such thoughts. And the lingering feeling of revulsion. He eventually found Dean leafing through a magazine. The elder angel's eyebrows raised in appreciation upon turning the page. Sam took a look at the cover and swatted it from his brother’s hands. Sam chose to ignore the indignant squawk from Dean in favor of exiting the building. 

 

“Lighten up, Sammy! We’re not exactly on Earth every day!” Dean protested, opening up a bag of something called Pork Rinds and cramming them into his mouth.

 

"Why are you eating? We don't need to eat."

 

"There isn't food like this in Heaven, Sammy,"

 

          Dean’s eyes widened in awe as he noisily crunched on the food. He gasped a moment, then enthusiastically shoved another handful of the puffy beige snacks into his mouth.

 

“We’re here to prevent Lilith from breaking sixty-six seals, Dean. Not to sample human culture,” Sam rebuked him, shooting a distasteful look between his brother and the bag of deep fried crap.

 

          Dean paused. Then, he gave a hearty laugh and clapped Sam’s shoulder.

 

“Since when do you follow orders? Last time I checked-!”

 

“We weren’t in danger of Lucifer rising,” Sam tersely interrupted.

 

          The younger angel had a very vague recollection of the Fallen angel, but he did remember the graceful way in which Lucifer had… simply existed. Elegance had radiated off of the archangel. The charismatic aura alone would have been reason enough to persuade Sam to stop Lucifer from rising back to power. He had no doubt Lucifer could pull it off. But now his willingness to prevent the Apocalypse had been enhanced by other motives.

 

“Alright,” Dean consented after a moment of shocked silence.

 

          Dean had honestly expected more of a fight from his brother. It was a rare occurrence for his blatantly rebellious brother to simply agree with orders. The elder frequently had to argue him into submission, all too aware of the punishment for disobedience. He chalked it up the Apocalypse being a sufficient incentive to be agreeable for once. The green eyed angel smiled. Things had gone in favour today. Who was he to question it?

 

“You’re the leader of our garrison. What are our orders?" Sam asked after a dismayed silence.

 

          Dean hummed in consideration, still crunching on his prized snack. Then, he groaned.

 

“Well, they’re headed to Wichita, aren’t they?”

 

          Sam nodded, the address that Gabriel had spouted off rattling in his skull.

 

“Let’s go help them take care of their hunting problem. We’ll pretend we’re there on the same case.”

 

“We’re angels, Dean. We aren’t hunters,” Sam pointed out.

 

“If we help them out, they’ll be more willing to help us,” Dean replied, “Gabriel’s a stubborn bastard. He isn’t going to be dragged away from working just because a couple of angels tell him.”

 

“Sounds like something I can relate to,” Sam drily muttered.

 

          Dean shot him a familiar icy look. Then, he smoothly moved on as if the moment had never happened.

 

“We aren’t far off from the Seal of Samhain. The sooner they finish up there, the quicker we can test Gabriel at Samhain’s seal. We’ll go from there,” Dean replied.

 

          Dean’s eyes briefly flashed with excitement before he slumped his shoulders slightly. Sam immediately identified that his brother was sulking. His mood seemed to be ruined, the brooding aura that had settled over him confirming his suspicions. Dean angrily crunched on another handful of Pork Rinds.

 

          It was considerably hard to look intimidating and angry with his cheeks puffed with food, but Dean came close to managing it.

 

         Sam easily concluded the sudden mood swing wasn’t caused by the idea of hunting some supernatural creature. His brother had always expressed interest in the topic. The younger angel had caught him more than once leafing through books on supernatural lore, questioning angels and entering the Heavens of dead hunters to speak with them. Dean was virtually a walking library on all things paranormal. Combined with their mojo, the duo could likely get out of any supernatural bind.  
  
     

         Such a deadly life had never held much appeal to Sam. He’d seen how the hunters nearly always ended bloody. If anything, he’d always imagined a white picket fence life. Something more settled down. A family, a couple of dogs, a nice job that didn’t have almost a guarantee of meeting your end with some pissed spirit with an axe.

 

            It was one of many things they disagreed upon- an argument which had been fought many times without victory. Sam presumed it would always be that way. Dean was an angel. He wouldn’t ever get to hunt, so he wouldn’t ever make an informed opinion.

 

          Sam brightened. Perhaps if Dean actually did some hunting of his own, the blonde might actually change his mind about the whole ordeal.

 

          That was what he told himself, anyway. Dean was the one closest to him, but he was still effectively Sam’s superior. And if he wanted to do something, then Sam had little say. Most of Heaven didn’t exactly look kindly down on him. Any of his disobedience was probably carefully documented, despite Dean's best efforts to conceal it.

 

          Rationalizing that Dean’s hunting pipe dream was not the issue, Sam spoke up.

 

“What’s the matter, then?” Sam hesitantly asked.

 

“Uriel,” Dean spat, with no further explanation.

 

           None more was needed, in reality. Sam just groaned in agreement. They could and would always agree on one thing. Uriel was a total ass.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

          Gabriel finished preening himself, as Castiel had so eloquently stated. The elder Novak had just scowled and rolled his eyes, tossing his brush to the side as he pulled on his usual jacket. He'd considered rebuking Castiel for his own preening, but decided to let it go. His younger brother was rarely without black tie attire and a trench coat that was growing increasingly shabby, after all. It would hardly be original to point that out. Unlike his brother, Gabriel usually just threw on whatever combination of flannels and jeans he dug out of his duffel. Other than a decent suit for FBI impersonations, his entire wardrobe was composed of seven outfits to avoid excessive laundry. Although Castiel did that himself, so Gabriel had never seen his full range of attire.

 

          Idly, the elder Novak wondered if Castiel had a copy of the outfit for every day of the week. He’d have to investigate later on. It would likely prove difficult, seeing as Castiel guarded his belongings closely after several incidents with itching powder. He was certain he could manage it. They hadn't lived in close quartets for several years for Gabriel to remain uninformed about how to sneak around his brother.

 

          Castiel finally exited the bathroom, predictably in his treasured outfit. Tendrils of steam snuck throughout the room while Gabriel contemplated whether the melodrama was intentional or not. The younger Novak always had favored dramatic entrances. And scalding showers lasting hours if uninterrupted.

 

“I was about to kick down the door to see if you’d drowned,” Gabriel drily muttered.

 

“I was not drowning,” Castiel informed him.

 

         Gabriel was long used to such replies to any attempt at sarcasm and made a vague motion towards the door.

 

          They each tucked their respective guns out of sight, followed by their backup weapons. Gabriel had just begun to search for his keys when Castiel dangled them in front of his brother.

 

“You are in no condition to drive,” he firmly stated.

 

“Why not? I drove us here,” Gabriel countered.

 

“A drive in which you nearly swerved off the road six times.”

 

          Gabriel opened his mouth, but Castiel cut him off.

 

“I counted. I continuously woke up to the sounds of car horns,” he grumpily muttered.

 

“Alright, mom, when do I get my driving privileges back?” Gabriel asked.

 

“Whenever you discover that sleep is a necessary bodily function.”

 

          Gabriel grimaced, then ducked out the door. Castiel loyally followed behind. The elder Novak wasn’t immune to the look of bitter acceptance blatantly splayed across the brunette’s face, all too aware of the same expression on his own. Castiel had weakly pleaded to skipping the reunion until falling victim to Gabriel’s charm. Or Gabriel’s stubbornness combined with his technical authority over his little brother and thinly veiled whining and begging. Unsurprisingly, he preferred the former.

 

          Unluckily, charm or stubbornness wasn’t going to stop Gabriel’s subconscious from reliving every horrid moment he’d spent in Hell. Unless he could suddenly become a lucid dreamer, at least.

 

          Gabriel drifted into microsleep during the car ride. His head would lull forwards, only to snap back up when the first flash of bright red lights flew across his vision. Or maybe the plesant sound of brittle bones snapping and skin squelching. Castiel’s face was pulled into an abnormally unreadable expression. It left the older hunter at unease at whether his nightmares were going unnoticed.

         

          Eventually, he succumbed to sleep. Like most other nightmares, it started with the sam. Same sounds, sights, smells. He was holding a device of some sort, positioned above someone shrouded in darkness. The use of the device was apparent, based on the brownish hue of discolored rust. God, he hoped that was rust. It probably wasn’t rust. Alastair always kept his tools sharp and clean.

     

          And then, from behind him. A voice ringing out like a bell. Not like the others, desperate, helpless voices. This one was focused, clear.

 

“Gabriel Novak is saved,” it boomed as a large hand wrapped around his shoulder.

 

          Gabriel felt a searing pain on his arm. He was frozen, unable to move, unable to turn around or struggle. Like he’d been when he was the one on the rack. A faint whooshing noise, the telltale sound of air moving reached his ears and he relaxed.

     

          Castiel looked over at the curled up form of his sleeping brother. His muscles, tensely coiled moments before, had suddenly released. His fists unclenched and he went strangely limp. His breathing went from harsh, shaky inhales to inaudible, constant intakes of air. Castiel almost feared that his brother had stopped breathing until he rocketed forwards. His seatbelt strained with the abrupt jolt, barely holding him back from smashing himself on the dashboard.

   

          Gabriel looked about with an almost feral look in his eyes. He looked panicked, clawing at his seatbelt like it was restraining him a moment before seeing the concerned way Castiel was eyeing him.

 

"I’m fine,” he dismissively muttered. “How long was I out?”

 

“Four minutes,” Castiel replied.

 

“Perfect. I feel better already. Can I have my keys back?” he wryly pleaded.

 

          Castiel wasn't great at socializing, but he wasn't an idiot. Especially not with his brother, a man who he’d lived with in impossibly tight quarters for around three years.

 

“What were you dreaming of?” he sternly questioned.

 

          Gabriel was halfway to making a snarky remark when he met Castiel’s eyes in the mirror. The elder Novak deflated slightly, then sighed.

 

“Look, Cas… I… I need a drink… or five. Then, I can try to talk about this. Not quite right now. My mind’s scrambled right now. Tomorrow morning?’ Gabriel suggested, rubbing his forehead to try to soothe the pounding headache.

 

          Castiel gave him a hard look, then sharply nodded in consent. Then, the brunette turned off the main road and pulled into the parking lot of a decent looking bar. A hand painted sign above the building dubbed it, “The Tap House.” It seemed moderately busy for a Thursday night. Castiel examined the area, absentmindedly cataloguing the exits of the building in case an escape was necessary as he exited the Impala.  
  
   

          Gabriel was too preoccupied to notice anything. The livid handprint on his arm burned horribly. He glanced at the scar. It looked particularly livid, but it could’ve just been his imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the second chapter! This one's a little slow, yes. I promise things will start to move faster soon. Considering that you've read this far, I've made an out-of-character decision that opposes my cold heart. I'm going to warn you about a few things. First, I LOVE abusing my characters. Second, sadness is my calling because I'm soulless (thanks, Crowley). Here's something to give you hope: I like happy endings for long fics. Keep these things in mind as Cas, Dean, Sam, and Gabriel trudge onwards!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam discovers alcohol and Castiel attempts to list the many places where Gabriel had nearly expired.

_**Chapter 3** _

 

 

                Castiel entered the bar to be greeted with the familiar biting smell of liquor, leather, and the faint undertone of lemon scented cleaner. Still, it was upscale compared to the seedy locations they regularly scoured in a search for witnesses.

 

                People flocked to alcohol in times of distress.

 

                It was something he could personally attest to. An unpleasant memory conjured- of a malnourished version of himself downing a truly acidic beverage, surrounded by a sea of empty shot glasses in a rundown bar. The alcohol had burned all the way down his mouth to his stomach like liquid fire. It burned in his gut long after he'd swallowed, as if he'd been engulfed. Castiel had bitterly laughed at himself, contemplating that Gabriel was probably burning somewhere below him...

 

                Castiel snapped back into the present with a vigorous shake of his head. His blast to the past hadn't been noticed, although Gabriel was now several steps ahead of him. The brunette faltered briefly, then followed him into the sports bar. 

 

                He scanned the area. It was a fairly straightforward establishment. Tables scattered about in an open space, a grand assortment of framed pictures and old metal signs decorating the walls, a pool table crowded by people who met the description of biker, flat screen TVs playing everything from basketball to golf. Near half the tables were filled with locals milling about, chatting as they nursed their pints and margaritas. 

 

                Castiel caught movement to his left, turning to see Sam waving at them. Dean smiled at them, raising a glass towards them in greeting. All the weariness melted away from Gabriel’s face, replaced by a smile so convincing that Castiel almost believed it. He would’ve, had Gabriel not looked years’ older moments before and certainly not gotten more than an hour’s sleep over the past days.

 

                But they had made their agreement, so Castiel allowed Gabriel to have his illusion for the time being. God knew Castiel was working his own illusions.

 

               As if his thoughts had been heard, his blood seemed to writhe in his veins. He could sense it moving, feel it shooting through him. Briefly, he could hear his blood hammering in his veins with each beat of his heart. Something evil mingling with his good intentions. He felt... unclean. 

 

                Then, it was gone. Castiel tried to shake the feeling off. For the most part, he failed.

 

                He looked back to the brothers, torn between wishing they hadn’t shown up at all and pleased that they had. At least Gabriel was genuinely smiling now. It was a rarity nowadays.

 

                Sam and Dean stood, meeting Gabriel halfway as he practically dragged Castiel across the room. The younger Novak was currently running calculations on his chances of slipping away unnoticed were. Being an unsociable recluse was high on his to-do list at the moment.

 

                But because Castiel was inevitably going to severely piss off Gabriel once the elder sibling had found out what had happened in his absence, Castiel decided to humor him this one time. Maybe appeasing him now would even lessen the fallout.

 

                Probably not.

 

                Castiel volunteered to order their drinks as they greeted one another, as he always did. Gabriel had slipped some unsavory things in his drinks in the past. It was probably for the best not to leave the elder Novak unsupervised around things that would be consumed later on. Or around things. Or unsupervised at all, really. Castiel honestly was partially sure that Gabriel had been banned from entire cities when he had gone hunting unsupervised in the years before Castiel had joined him.

 

                The brunette looked briefly at the drinks splayed across the counter. Catching Castiel's eye, Gabriel minutely tilted his head towards the drinks. Castiel read the cue easily enough. The brunette pulled an antique flask from his pocket, deftly unscrewed the cap and poured their special concoction into each of the glasses. It was their testing ritual, designed to rout out any unsavory types. Hunting hadn't exactly left either of them unwary of strangers. 

 

                Castiel pocketed his flask once more. Carrying four drinks simultaneously proved to be a difficult task, but he managed easily enough and joined the trio at a table. Gabriel snatched his choice drink and went about emptying the glass at a rate Castiel deemed alarming. The brunette let it slide for the moment, handing out the remaining mugs. Gabriel had claimed the seat next to Sam, so Castiel settled down next to Dean.  

 

“What are you two in town for?” Dean inquired.

 

“We’re Federal Agents,” Gabriel smoothly answered.

 

                Gabriel directed a wicked grin towards Sam. As an afterthought, he added,

 

"And yourselves?”

 

“We’re hunting a banshee,” Sam earnestly replied.

 

                Gabriel snorted and choked into his drink, eyebrows rocketing up. Castiel narrowed his eyes at the men after a moment of initial shock and glanced accusingly at Gabriel, wordlessly questioning if his brother had set the entire thing up. The elder Novak drained his drink, then lifted his hands in a sign of innocence. Meanwhile, Dean leaned back in his seat and pondered about how he might educate Sam on subtlety before his next social excursion as he sipped his liquor. Or maybe social norms. Dean would at least have to tell Sam that bringing up supernatural creatures and proclaiming their existence was generally frowned upon. And often ended people up in mental hospitals. 

 

“So, what? You’re hunters?” Gabriel eventually asked, half-recovered from unsuccessfully trying to clear accidentally inhaled liquor from his systems.

 

                Sam paused, unsurely glancing to Dean to step in. Their reactions hadn't been what he'd presumed they'd be. 

 

“You could say that,” Dean cryptically answered.

 

“And what led you to presuming we shared the occupation?” Castiel guardedly asked.

 

                Unconsciously, both Novaks had moved their hands to rest over their guns in case a quick draw was needed. They shared a look. It hadn’t been the first time something like this had occurred. Especially not after the sudden outburst of demons from Hell’s Gate. They’d nearly been lured into ambushes far too many times. Dean had yet to touch his drink. By unspoken agreement, they watched carefully as Sam took raised the glass to his lips. He frowned after sniffing it, but tentatively took a sip. Then, Sam gave it an incredulous look.

 

“What is this?” he questioned, eyes wide with awe.

 

                Gabriel eyed him uncertainly, then shot a perplexed look to his brother. Castiel was certain he was mirroring the same expression. If salt, Holy Water, nor silver flecks from the mixture of his flask hadn't affected them in the least, then they were likely humans. Those ingredients covered an incredibly wide range of the supernatural, after all. Although Castiel supposed they could be some obscure species that had equally obscure weaknesses.

 

“It's whatever you ordered,” Gabriel drawled in response.

 

                Gabriel chalked it up to assuming that they were human, simply eccentric. Sam shrugged, sheepishly stared at the amber liquid, then took another long swig. Gabriel quirked a brow, eyes searching over the faces of everyone present until they landed on Dean.

 

“Excuse him. Sammy's just blunt. What he meant to say is that we’ve heard of the Novaks before. From other hunters,” Dean apologetically explained.

 

                The Novak brothers relaxed slightly upon hearing that, although their hands instinctively still never drifted from their guns. They exchanged one last look. Gabriel shrugged, signalling that it was Castiel's turn to talk.

 

“It would appear that we’re on the same case,” Castiel pointed out.

 

                Dean blinked as if he'd realized that for the first time, glancing at Sam from across the table. They shared a silent conversation, then Dean refocused back to them.

 

“Hunters are getting ganked everywhere you look. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to have backup,” Dean remarked.

 

                Gabriel glanced briefly at Sam, smirked to himself, then joyously opened his mouth to agree. He stopped short upon seeing Castiel’s telltale sulking face warning him not to do so. The elder Novak scowled a moment in annoyance, then feigned a sweet smile.

 

“Excuse us,” Gabriel said in his overly polite tone, standing and motioning for Castiel to do the same.

 

                The expression Gabriel was firing his way was one that Castiel dreaded. Primarily because such a face was usually followed by a speech about how Gabriel’s grumpy c-blocking little brother needed to lighten up.

 

                Once Gabriel had dragged Castiel a distance that prevented them from being overheard by the brothers, the elder Novak quizzically raised his brows. He was met with a silent deadpan stare. After a few moments, the younger Novak elaborated.

 

“I am hesitant to allow two men who are virtually strangers on a hunt with us.”

 

                Gabriel relaxed. That had been different than what he'd been expecting. The hazel eyed man chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

 

“You need to-,” he begun.

 

“Do not tell me I need to lighten up,” Castiel grumbled, effectively shutting up the elder sibling.

 

                Gabriel hardly expressed any surprise at having his sentence finished. It was one of their standard exchanges, so an interruption wasn't uncommon.

 

“What’s wrong with them? They look like models for a bodybuilding magazine,” Gabriel incredulously said, casting another appraising stare in Sam’s direction. Once he became aware of Castiel’s disapproving stare, the hazel eyed man rapidly redirecting his gaze. “I’d probably have been more surprised if they weren’t hunters. Do you honestly think someone like _that_ works in a cubicle?”

 

                Castiel glimpsed back at Dean. He had just noticed Gabriel’s point when his brother redirected his face. Castiel bitterly swatted his hand away, glaring at his older brother.

 

“Quit drooling over Barbie. You can’t just stare at guys and expect them to fall in love with you, Cassie,” Gabriel wryly commented. “If you don’t want to flirt with him, then I’ll do it for you.”

 

                Castiel chose to ignore the offer in favor of pleading his case.

 

“It doesn’t necessarily mean that they are good hunters, Gabriel. I am only cautious enough to look after the two of us. I could not keep up with two tagalongs in addition to you.”

 

“I can look after myself, Cas,” Gabriel assured him with a roll of his eyes.

 

                Castiel hit him once more with a deadpan stare. The brunette prepared to rattle off an extensive list of locations where Gabriel had nearly croaked. The younger Novak had just uttered the first syllable when he was cut off by Gabriel sourly lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. It had been easy enough for the elder Novak to read his brother. Relenting was the most rational course of action. And the least embarrassing, because Gabriel was certain that Castiel had accumulated a very lengthy list detailing his near death experiences.

 

               Castiel had little time to dwell on his wordless victory. Gabriel had already shifted gears to another topic to avoid further embarrassment.

 

“Not everything and everyone’s your responsibility, Cas. They’re hunters, they’re alive, so obviously they’re good enough to have survived the demon onslaught. Besides, it’d be safer going in four versus one than with us two alone. It’ll be fine,” Gabriel persuaded him.

 

                Castiel could feel a sour laugh bubbling inside him. It certainly felt like everyone was his responsibility. Most of all; his brother. Not to mention how it felt like no matter what he tried to do, he continuously failed. It had been his responsibility to save Gabriel from his deal (he’d failed). Then to save Gabriel from Hell (he’d failed). To stay true to his brother’s dying wishes (he’d failed). And if he wasn’t responsible for someone, then he was their problem.  

 

                But as he always did, Castiel concealed those thoughts to a dusty corner of his mind. It was better for them to remain unsaid.

 

“Please, mom?” Gabriel sarcastically pleaded, believing the silence had been caused by Castiel weighing their options.

 

“I am not your mother,” Castiel replied.

 

               Castiel still held his reservations, but Gabriel's argument was logical enough. The sooner they finished, the sooner Gabriel would have no excuse so as not to sleep. The brunette turned on his heels and walked back to their table with Gabriel in close pursuit. He wordlessly slid back into his seat beside Dean, downed the remains of his drink, then looked between the brothers, locking a piercing gaze on Dean.

 

“How informed are you on banshee lore?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter Three! Stuff's still a bit slow due to world-building, but things are definitely going to pick up in the next chapter. I don't want to spoil much, but you can also expect Gabriel to get drunk off his ass in the next chapter. Lastly, I didn't know that banshees had actually been introduced yet to the show when I mentioned them in the first chapter. Thus, I might twist the lore a little bit to make things more interesting. Thanks for reading ^~^
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel accidentally insinuates that Sam is Lucifer and Dean subtly heals Castiel after he crashes the Impala.

**_Chapter 4_ **

 

 

"How do banshees kill?"

 

"Their screams are fatal to behold for extended periods. They essentially liquefy the brain by causing blood vessels to burst due to their supersonic screams."

 

"Weaknesses?"

 

"Salt repels them. A weapon of gold can kill them if the wound is inflicted in a fatal area. Iron is suspected to harm them, although it has not been proven."

  
                Gabriel didn’t bother to conceal his scowl as he led the march out to the Impala. Dean and Castiel had been firing lore and trivia questions between each other, trying to induce the other to reveal any gap in knowledge through trickery and deceit alike.

 

                He attempted to use the distraction in his favor, quietly slipping behind the wheel. The elder Novak rummaged through his pockets, increasingly frantic as his keys were nowhere to be found. Hearing a polite cough, Gabriel looked over to see Castiel dangling them in front of the window. Gabriel made a failed attempt to snatch them away before begrudgingly moving to the passenger seat.

 

                Castiel ignored the complaints his brother grumbled, instead basking in silent appreciation for sleight of hand. The brunette removed the map he’d marked earlier from the glove box. Pinpointing the area with the greatest cluster of murders was easy enough. Trudging through the backwoods in hopes of finding an elusive murderous woman would not be quite so easy.

 

                But first; to drive there. Once Sam and Dean slipped into the backseat, Castiel coaxed the car to life and pulled away from the well-lit bar into the night. Gabriel huffed in annoyance beside him, longingly staring at his keys.

 

                In the backseat, Sam blankly stared at the seatbelt. The brunette fumbled uselessly with the foreign contraption. Spotting his dilemma, Dean reached over with a roll of his eyes to aid his brother.

 

“Ever hunted a banshee before?” Dean cheerily questioned, in hopes they look back to see a grown man having his seatbelt buckled like a toddler.

 

“Once, down in West Virginia. Nearly had my brain melting out my ears by the end,” Gabriel humorously recalled. It hadn’t been so funny, then. But now the whole ordeal was practically comical.

 

                Castiel gave him a questioning look.

 

“I do not have any recollection of this.”

 

                Gabriel gave him an incredulous look.

 

“How could you forget that? It was the weekend of the State Fair. I rigged the carnival games in reverse so that they were in the player’s favor,” he fondly recalled.

 

                At Castiel’s blank look, Gabriel was struck with realization.

 

“Right, it was back in ’02. You still would’ve been taking Pre-Med,” he absentmindedly added as an afterthought. To stray away from that unhappy topic, Gabriel quickly brought up another. “What about you?”

 

“First time,” Dean admitted.

 

                Gabriel considered that a moment.

 

“Sounds deserving of celebratory post-hunting drinks,” the elder Novak remarked.

 

“If you’re paying,” Dean wryly replied.

 

“Henry Ulrich is paying,” Gabriel replied, every bit as wryly.

 

“Who’s that?” Sam confusedly asked after a pause.

 

                Gabriel laughed, only adding to the brunette’s confusion.

 

“That’s the name on my credit card,” he explained.

 

                Sam blinked, frowning.

 

“Why?” the younger angel perplexedly inquired.

 

                Now Gabriel’s eyebrows were raised.

 

“What, how you do cover your expenses? I don’t think I’ve ever met a hunter who does anything else.”

 

                Sam had begun to answer him when Dean silenced him with a sharp look. Thankfully, it was Castiel who stepped in this time, saving Dean from making some excuse.

 

“This is the area where the majority of the attacks have occurred,” the younger Novak stated after consulting his map.

 

                Gratefulness surged through the older angel. Dean really needed to get a muzzle or something for Sam.

 

                Inky darkness and swirling fog had submerged his car. Even with the headlights on, it was impossible to make out what was more than a few yards ahead. It was a desolate stretch of road. Unruly thickets of brambles surrounded either side of the pothole ridden asphalt. Neglected shacks occasionally cropped up among the sea of wild shrubbery, wood rotten and ceilings caved in. The path had been eerily silent and mostly devoid of life, save for the single car they’d passed in the last twenty minutes.

 

                Scanning the brush for the face of a creepy ass woman peering at them had hurdled them into a concentrated silence.

 

               It almost would’ve been a shame if something hadn’t decided to terrorize such a road. Castiel caught movement in the rear review mirror. He turned his gaze away from the road, scrutinizing the road behind them. In the mist, there appeared to be a dark shape trailing behind them. Castiel had almost pointed it out when-

 

“SHITSHITSH-!” Gabriel yelled, interrupted by the events occurring in the following seconds.

 

                Castiel jerked his eyes back to the road upon hearing his brother's cries. In the road directly in front of the Impala, a ghoulish woman stood. Untamed black hair puffed from her head, matted and filled with debris. Sunken maroon eyes pierced his own, flashing angrily. Ragged dark robes hung loosely around a waifish frame. A cavernous mouth with crimson lips had just begun to open in a scream that had yet to be fully released.

 

                Out of instinct more than anything, Castiel slammed on the brakes. He viciously jerked the wheel to the right. Rubber squealed in protest, an acrid stench already fouling the air. The car was unable to avoid her in time and slammed straight through the woman, who immediately dissipated. That was the least of their current worries.

 

                The Impala swerved violently off the road. The car easily smashed through the rotten wooden guardrail at the side of the road. The car was briefly airborne before slamming harshly back onto waterlogged, mossy ground. The front wheels struck first. Their necks snapped forwards, then backwards with whiplash as the back wheels struck. Castiel’s head slammed against the steering wheel, knocking him unconscious for a few moments. When he came to, stars danced across his vision alongside a slideshow of colors. It took him far too long to realize that the red staining his vision was actually blood dripping into his eye.

 

                Gabriel, whose feet had been propped up on the dash, had his legs slammed into the windshield. Spiderweb cracks formed in the glass where his feet had made contact, stemming out from the bottom to top of the windshield. Sam and Dean came out of the crash best, having been in the relative safety of the backseat.

 

                After Gabriel regained his breath, he glared at Castiel.

 

“What was that about my subpar driving, brother?” he snapped, instantly throwing himself out of the vehicle to inspect the damage done to his baby. Sam fervently followed.

 

                Castiel groaned, flipping down the sun visor to inspect the damage done to his face. It took several shakes of his head and harsh blinking to regain proper vision. Above his eyebrow, a cut had been inflicted from smashing his face on the steering wheel. It had already begun to swell, promising to cause nasty bruising. He groaned, leaning back briefly in his seat. He grabbed a napkin from the cup holder, using it as a compress to slow the bleeding. 

 

                Dean watched Castiel with concern from the backseat. It did indeed look like a painful injury to a human. Once the elder angel was certain that Castiel wouldn’t notice, he subtly reached over to graze the back of his neck to give him whatever surreptitious healing he could. Castiel eased up slightly, some of the tension brought on by pain receding. After a few moments, he removed the makeshift compress. Most of the bleeding had stopped.

 

“Are you alright?” Dean asked.

 

                The angel felt… He _felt_. That sudden realization struck him in full force. Why? Why did he care even in the slightest way about a human? Yes, Castiel was a significant human, based on the doting attention from so many demon, but nonetheless. _Feelings_ had always been his brother’s thing.

 

                Hell, it had been the entire reason that Dean had taken Sam under his wing(s) to begin with. Dean had always been able to see it. Sam had always been different. He’d been doubtful, rebellious, unwilling to blindly follow a father he couldn’t see. Unlike so many other angels, like Dean. And somehow, the elder angel had somehow ended up growing close to the younger angel, nearly raising him. Trying to instill him with faith in their father, failing for the most part.

 

                Feeling was not something Dean did. Dean was the good soldier. And no matter how many of Castiel’s prayers he’d overheard over the years, he did not truly know the human. The human was not worth feeling over. He was the human with demon blood, nonetheless!

               

               Dean shoved the unwelcome… feeling away. The needed to cut himself off from such things before anyone else caught on.

 

“I am alright,” Castiel insisted, gently bringing a hand to the cut. The brunette was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t violently flinch away from the contact of his fingertips.

 

                Dean gave him a professional nod, then left the car.

 

                Gabriel was furious as he stalked around his car. The left side of his bumper was loose, the front headlights smashed, the paint scratched, the tailpipe dragging, his windshield filled with cracks. They would be a pain in his ass to repair. He was going to kill that son-of-a-bitch banshee with his bare hands, then maybe his brother. His Baby had been hurt and the banshee was going to pay.

 

“You can harbor a considerable amount of rage for such a small vessel,” Sam complimented. Unlike the insult it could be perceived as, his tone sounded admiring. Innocent eyes offered him a smile that was too adorable for someone of his size.

 

                Gabriel gave him a strange look, unsure of whether to laugh or feel insulted.

 

“…Thanks?” he responded as he popped open the trunk to unload their weapons.  

 

               They were rather stranded with the Impala stuck in a ditch. Being armed would repel the banshee, however temporarily. Gabriel tossed Castiel one of their rock salt shotguns and a golden blade. 

 

“I assume both of you know how to handle these?” Gabriel questioned, jerking his head in direction of the remaining shotguns.

 

                Dean nodded in affirmation, as did Sam. Gabriel handed out the proper weaponry, then looked between all of them.

 

“Since our knowledge on lore has been brushed up courtesy of Cas and Dean’s trivia game, let’s open a can of whup ass on this thing,” Gabriel declared.

 

                The elder Novak shot a seething look out at the brush after a melancholy one at his car.

 

“We’re more likely to come across it if we comb over a larger area. I’ll go with Sam.”

 

                Castiel had opened his mouth in protest, but Gabriel sent him a scathing look after a pointed glance towards his car. His mouth was abruptly shut. The shade of red that traveled across Castiel’s face was a decent beginning on revenge for the damage done to his car.

 

“If this bitch lays a finger on my car…” he threateningly muttered.

 

                No one quite caught what he said afterwards.

 

                Sam, upon realizing that his partner was already trekking off into the woods, hurried after in long strides. Castiel and Dean lingered in awkward silence a moment before Dean motioned to the woods.

 

“Shall we?” he questioned.

 

                So with that, they went off into the woods.

 

                They spent an increasingly long time in silence, ears straining to hear the faintest of sounds. The rustle of leaves in the slightest breeze send them on edge. Dean was not worried in the slightest about being injured, but it was strangely eerie. The angel couldn’t help but to wonder what it would be like hunting without the knowledge that he couldn’t be injured by basic creatures such as this one.

               

               Eventually, Castiel was the one to break the silence.

 

“I did not catch your full name,” the human commented.

 

              Dean hesitated. He hadn’t considered that a surname would be of importance. His eyes rapidly searched the area in search of something to aid him when nothing sensible instantly came to mind. The angel had nearly uttered Novak, the only surname he’d paid any real attention to, before catching himself. Eventually, his eyes landed on the blocky letters carved into the barrel of his shotgun.

 

“Winchester. Dean Winchester,” he evenly decided.

             

              If Castiel had noticed the prolonged silence, he thankfully didn’t comment. And so they settled back into their silence, in which Dean was left to worriedly wonder how his own brother was faring.

 

             Gabriel and Sam had walked in silence awhile. Sam had absentmindedly been striding with ridiculously long legs. Gabriel had been forced to speed-walk to come close to matching his pace. Eventually, Gabriel had grown bored of the silence. Thus, he had decided to test the waters between himself and Sam. Having come up with no better method than pickup lines, he’d tried a few to be met with confused stares and questions that confirmed his intentions hadn’t been understood at all.

 

              So, at last the elder Novak had tried one that was so glaringly simple and popular he was certain that Sam couldn’t misinterpret it.

 

“Did it hurt?” Gabriel asked.

 

“No. I didn’t get any severe injuries from the car crash,” Sam reassuringly replied.

 

“No, not that,” Gabriel corrected him, running a hand through his hair and close to admitting defeat.

 

“Then what are you referring to?” Sam questioned.

 

“When you fell from Heaven?” Gabriel responded.

 

                Sam stopped in his tracks. The angel turned to peer at the shorter man, trying to quell the panic that arose in him. What had given it away that he was an angel? Then, confusion. Yes, he was an angel, but he hadn’t fallen. Sam furrowed his brows.

 

“Are you calling me Lucifer?” he slowly concluded.

 

                Gabriel was torn between rolling his eyes and laughing. He settled on the latter. His laughter was rudely cut off when a piercing screech tore through the night air. It was followed by what felt like every blood cell in his brain bursting as Gabriel doubled over in agony, hands clapped over his ears. It did shockingly little to muffle the noise.

 

                His shotgun clattered uselessly to the ground. The situation wasn’t helped when Gabriel was lifted off his feet and tossed straight into the trunk of an oak. He crumpled to the ground, stunned. The hazel eyed man could make out the figure of the woman approaching him.

 

                The angel was unaffected by the piercing screech. Hell, the true voices of angels was in a higher frequency than the banshee.

 

                Sam fiddled with all the accessories of the shotgun with increasing urgency, confused as to why it wasn't shooting when he pulled the trigger. The banshee was frighteningly close to Gabriel when at last he squeezed the trigger and a shot rang out through the forest. it went wide. The woman's head spun to him. She'd just begun to run at him when Sam squeezed the trigger again in quick succession until one of his rounds at last found its mark. 

 

                The banshee gave an another awful shriek that sent Gabriel writhing and thrashing on the ground once more before vanishing.

 

                Gabriel limply lay there a few moments, before propping himself against the tree trunk. He looked to Sam. The brunette held a still-smoking shotgun, looking equal parts thrilled and terrified. Gabriel offered a weak smile. The angel kneeled by him, shotgun still at the ready.

 

“You’re… leaking,” Sam anxiously commented, gesturing towards Gabriel’s noise.

 

                Gabriel snorted at the terminology, wiping the already slowing trickle of blood away. His ears rung, a pounding headache hammering through his skull.

 

“Hate those cursed bastards,” the human hissed, standing up with some effort.

 

                Gabriel shakily retrieved his weapons, taking a hearty swig from his liquor flask. Off somewhere to his northwest, two shots rang out into the night. He responded with two of his own. At Sam’s inquiring look, he explained.

 

“We have a code whenever we’re separated. Two shots mean that we’re alright, three means danger.”

 

                Deeper into the woods, some of the tension left Castiel as the two responding shots pierced the silence. The brunette reloaded his gun while Dean looked on. His movements were precise as clockwork. Castiel only broke his focus at measured intervals to scan their surroundings for any sign of danger. Dean ran through his library of common conversation starters. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain that half of them would trigger some sort of unhappy memory, likely one associated with death.

 

                From what Dean had seen, Castiel seemed to be drowning in death. It was a wonder that he was still alive himself, let alone still trying to save people.

 

                That also seemed like a poor conversation starter.

 

                Dean was saved from that difficulty when Castiel glanced up. The younger Novak nearly missed the small movement in the brush were there should have been none.

 

                The angel swung around with his shotgun poised, Castiel lifting his golden knife. Precisely at that moment, the banshee charged into the clearing. Dean fired and subsequently missed his shot as the ghoulish woman chose to open her mouth. In the brief moments before Castiel was incapacitated, he shouted,

 

“Get down!”

 

                Dean would’ve done so, but the banshee conveniently moved him out of the line of fire. Meaning that she telekinetically flung him twenty feet away into a thicket of brambles. Castiel stepped forward with his left foot, methodically throwing his knife in a practiced spiral. Before the banshee could dematerialize, it struck the woman at the base of her throat.

 

                And for a few painful moments before its death, another shrill wail echoed through the forest until the banshee flew up in flames. When the scream stopped, Castiel found himself staring up the stars attempting to peek through the foliage. Spots danced across his spinning vision, his hears ringing as if he were standing next to church bells. With effort, the brunette stood. He hobbled to the area where his knife had fallen then looked around for an absent Dean.

 

                A groan informed him of Dean’s location. Castiel trudged to the thicket and aided the angel in cutting himself free. By the time they were finished, both were covered in a layer of scratches. Once more, Dean surreptitiously brushed against Castiel and siphoned him enough grace to heal the brunt of the brunette’s wounds. 

 

                Then, for a moment, the pair just laid on the ground. Eventually, Castiel stood and they began the trudge back to the car.

 

                By the time both parties had arrived back to the Impala, it was a quarter past midnight. The fog at least seemed to have lightened up. They were about to climb into the car when bitter realization struck them. The Impala was still sunken in a muddy ditch.

 

**_~A Couple Hours Later~_ **

 

                By the time the car had been dislodged, Castiel and Gabriel were long exhausted. And utterly filthy. Mud had been sprayed all over them by the struggling wheels of the Impala, along with the dirty water that had collected in the trench. Their feet squelched with each step. Droplets of murky water flew in every direction when they made the slightest movement and clods of dirt fell from their hair. It didn’t help that the cool air sent chills down their back.

 

                It hadn’t done wonders for their moods, unsurprisingly. Gabriel stomped to his car, partially in anger and partially in an effort to dislodge some of the filth that covered him. His beloved car had seldom ever looked worse. It didn’t help that he would have to vacuum the grime out from the interior of his car the following day. Gabriel scowled upon catching a glimpse of his grungy self in the car’s mirror.

 

                Sam and Dean had aided in freeing the vehicle in whatever inconspicuous manner they’d been able to. As a result, neither looked any better than the Novaks. Dean had driven them back to the sports bar. Castiel still refused to let Gabriel drive due to poor health and Gabriel refused to let Castiel drive after wrecking his Baby.

 

               Castiel had really wanted to head back to the motel and shower, but he’d decided that he deserved a large amount of liquor for his efforts that need. Regardless of the stares they would be sure to receive. Everyone else seemed to feel the same.

 

               So, they walked into the now fairly abandoned bar and Castiel simply put their orders in as “something very strong.” He trudged back to their table with a concoction called Jungle Juice. Gabriel was sitting there with a smug, challenging smirk. Dean and Sam looked rather thrilled. It sent pangs of remorse through Castiel about having left them alone.

 

“Gabe thinks he can out-drink us,” Dean explained.

 

                Dread accurately depicted the brunette’s emotions. Castiel narrowly avoided dropping his head onto the table and groaning.

 

“Who’s your money on?” Dean continued.

 

                Castiel looked up a moment. Both of the supposed Winchesters had near fifty pounds on Gabriel. Sam had two thirds of a foot on him. And yet, unless both of the boys were some sort of super drinkers, his money was still on Gabriel. Castiel had experienced firsthand the amount of rotgut Gabriel could down without so much as slurring his words. That was partially because Castiel had once been naïve enough to accept the same challenge. The remainder of that weekend had been spent wickedly slurring swears in a pitch black bathroom.

 

“Gabriel,” Castiel answered, much to Dean’s amusement. “This is a horrible idea,” Castiel warned them.

 

“I take it you aren’t joining?” Gabriel replied, knowingly grinning.

 

“I believe I’ll chose life,” Castiel dryly replied.

 

“More like Sasstiel,” Gabriel snorted, entertained.

 

                And thus it began. Dean and Sam watched in increasing disbelief as Gabriel downed copious amounts of alcohol, still managing to stay upright. Although Sam and Dean held the advantage of being incapable of drunkenness in their current state, it was undeniably impressive to watch a man of Gabriel’s stature drink enough to poison a horse. And even when Gabriel begun to reach tipsiness, he continued out of sheer stubbornness. By the time Castiel realized this and cut him off, he could already tell that his brother would need extensive hangover care the following day.

 

                So the younger Novak went to settle an alarmingly high tab at the bar with at least five drinks for his brother that Castiel hadn’t accounted for.

 

                At least Gabriel would definitely be sleeping soundly tonight.

 

“Mm, ‘s that? ‘s pretty,” the elder Novak slurred, pointing in the vague direction of Sam.

 

                Gabriel actually missed his target above three feet to the left, but nonetheless the message remained. Castiel supported his stumbling brother and apologetically turned back to the Winchesters.

 

“I apologize. Gabriel is competitive in nature,” he mumbled.

 

                Dean only appeared amused. He sent Castiel another one of those brilliant smiles.

 

“It’s alright. This has been fun.”

 

                Castiel nodded in agreement, although his aching muscles violently disagreed.

 

“We’ll have to do this again. We’ll see you around, Cas,” Dean promised.

 

                Dean and Sam had just turned around to leave when as an afterthought, Dean slyly added,

 

“Give your brother my best wishes in the morning. In a loud fashion, if it suits you.”         

 

                Then they sauntered out the door.

 

                Castiel watched them retreat a moment before hauling his brother to the car. A quick stop at a convenience store on the way home provided his brother with Advil and Gatorade for the following morning. Castiel was long exhausted before he crossed the threshold of their battered motel room. After a steaming hot shower, he collapsed in bed with the enlightening sound of his brother’s snores from the other half of the room for the first time in a long while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have Chapter Four! I wrote this sleep-deprived, so give me a hand by pointing out any errors. I actually really like this chapter, but since I can't ever accurately judge my own work- so it might be literal crap. Thanks for reading, at any rate! I feed off of your feedback and support ^~^
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel low-key torments Gabriel and Dean realizes the Novaks straddle a fine line.

**_Chapter 5_ **

 

 

                Gabriel awoke to the sound of jackhammers. Followed by strobe lights flashing above his eyes. Then by bile rising in his throat. When Castiel returned twenty minutes later, their motel room had been surged into darkness. The curtains were drawn and all the lights turned off. Gabriel’s bed was abandoned, although his bedding was in disarray of something who had quickly untangled themselves.

 

                Further inspection revealed a dent had mysteriously formed in the wall. That was followed by the realization that his brother was going to need a new phone, considering the screen had been totally shattered.

 

                Castiel didn’t need to call out for his brother. The telltale sign of retching in the bathroom had informed him upon walking in. The younger Novak placed the box of diner food onto the foot of Gabriel’s bed. He went about gathering the unclean clothing that had built up over the week. Listening to Gabriel retching was hardly on his bucket list, although it was a bit satisfying.

 

“Lunch is on the bed. Be prepared to leave in half an hour. I received a lead on Lilith’s whereabouts,” Castiel shouted through the door.

 

                Gabriel groaned a nonsensical reply, then doubled over again. Castiel couldn’t help but to smirk at the misfortune he’d brought upon himself. And since listening to his brother’s slurred curses was hardly his idea of fun, the brunette went out in search of a laundromat.

 

                Precisely half an hour later, Gabriel found himself in the passenger seat of his abused car. His headache had abated and thought was coming semi-coherently now. Sunglasses from a rack at the last gas station blocked the majority of light from blinding himself. His flask had been confiscated until Gabriel had returned to sobriety, much to his dismay.

 

                Advil was doing shockingly little to quell the waves of pain that sloughed through him with every movement. Remaining still had been difficult for the fidgety man, although Castiel didn’t seem to mind the silence.

 

                Of course, his younger brother had passive-aggressively turned on the radio at a high volume until Gabriel had asked through gritted teeth in sugary politeness if he would stop.

 

“What came to pass with “Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cakehole”?” Castiel mumbled, although something resembling a smirk flickered across his face.

 

“Stop taking pleasure in my pain!” Gabriel groused.

 

                Castiel turned the radio off after “accidentally” turning the volume dial the wrong way to full power. Gabriel felt echoes of pain until he at last slipped into sleep.

 

                His rest was undisturbed for a period. Then as they did if he was anything short of passed out, the nightmares resumed.

 

                Unlike the more bearable ones where he was doing the torturing, this one featured him under Alastair’s knife. A scream was stuck in his throat, eyes searching wildly for someone to save him who simply wasn’t there and wouldn’t come. Because no one would ever come to save the worthless foot soldier that he was.

 

                And eventually, as Gabriel had been promised, he would join the ranks of twisted demons because there simply was no other fate for damned souls such as he.

 

                Gabriel was being shredded in nothingness, reduced to ribbons, over and over, only to be haphazardly thrown back together again. For all eternity. Unless he agreed to Alastair’s offer. Alastair at last put his bloodstained tools back onto his rack, then turned back to Gabriel with an offer on his lips that Gabriel felt he was long overdue for accepting. Gabriel had near agreed when he distantly heard Castiel’s voice distantly calling out for him.

 

                As Castiel shook Gabriel awake, the elder sibling swore that he could still feel the searing pain of having the skin filleted from his abdomen.

 

                Castiel searched over his brother’s face, his own pulled blank. Gabriel hated that damned unreadable neutral expression. Before Castiel could find whatever he was looking for, Gabriel stretched. His hangover had significantly lessened, leaving him with most of his normal brain functions fully restored. And he felt gloriously refreshed. Every cell in his body sung with rejuvenation as he exited the car.

 

                It was well into the afternoon, the sun dipping low in the sky. Heat pounded off Gabriel’s skin despite the overcast weather.

 

“How far South are we?” the elder brother questioned, basking in the balmy climate.

 

“We are currently in Pulaski, Tennessee,” Castiel replied.

 

                Gabriel studied his brother a bit more carefully. Castiel seemed intent not to make eye contact with him and was actively putting as much space between them as possible. Suspicious in a manner that Gabriel recognized.

 

“Where’d you get the hint that Lilith was going to screw things up from?”

 

“I would rather not cite my sources,” Castiel evenly admitted after a moment of deliberation.

 

                Gabriel knew what that meant.

 

“You know that bitch Ruby is going to stab you in the back the first chance she gets,” Gabriel growled.

 

“I disagree,” came an unexpectedly steely reply.

 

                Gabriel sent his brother a solemn look.

 

“Castiel, you’re my brother and I love you, but you’re a naïve baby in a trench coat. And people know that. No one does anything out the good of their heart, Cas, not unless they’re family.”

 

                Castiel settled for silently disagreeing and Gabriel scowled at the lack of a reply. They silently settled into their seedy motel room for lack of anything else to say on the topic.

 

                As they unpacked, Gabriel came across the startling realization that he had a gap in his memories of the prior night. The time skip ranged from when the alcohol had hit his system to the following morning when his phone had rung, courtesy of Castiel.  

 

“How’d things even end up last night?” Gabriel inquisitively asked, an edge of cheer to his voice.

 

“You became severely intoxicated, we bid each other farewell, then we returned back to the motel.”

 

                Gabriel peered at his brother in a fashion that suggested that either his brother was a moron or had suddenly grasped the concept of sarcasm overnight.

 

“Did you get their digits?”

 

“No. Based on the current state of your phone, you would be unable to contact Sam anyhow.”

 

“Did you have _any_ means of contacting them?” Gabriel deadpanned, forcing to keep his eyes from rolling into his skull.

 

                Castiel paused, then replied with,

 

“Dean stated that they enjoyed the excursions and would see us at a later date.”

 

                Gabriel groaned, subsequently facepalming.

 

“He gave you a consolation prize, Cas. I don’t imagine he has any ambition to follow up.”

 

                Castiel gave him a doubtful look, only solidifying Gabriel’s claim that he was far too naïve to know when he was being manipulated or lied to. Castiel was innocent, inexperienced. He could be swayed by lies. Gabriel wouldn't have any way of knowing if his brother had already been tarnished, talked into silence about sharing his actions.

 

 “I believe him,” Castiel eventually replied.

 

                The conversation was effectively ended as Castiel removed Ruby’s Knife from their duffel bag of weapons and went about sharpening it.

 

                The brunette was right there, yet Gabriel feared that he’d already been pulled away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Bad didn’t begin to describe the situation. Another seal had been broken. There were simply too many options for Lilith to choose from and not enough angels to effectively protect them all. Dean flew into a spree of curses, damning Lilith, damning her offspring, damning anything that dared to cross his mind. The telltale sound of air shifting informed him that his brother had returned.

 

                Dean straightened, putting on the unworried face of a reassuring leader and turned to face Sam. The news was bleak, based off of the vastly fretful expression the younger wore. The bearer of bad news, indeed.

 

“Another Seal has fallen in Vaniel’s garrison,” Sam begun after Dean made gestured for him to speak.

 

                Dean glanced to the side. Internally, the news terrified him. But the elder put on a carefree mask, giving a grand show of appearing relaxed. If the rest of the underlings begun to catch wind of how bad the angels were truly faring, how they were losing the battle, Dean was certain it would bring nothing but trouble. Discontent, fear, and anxiety would spread among them like disease, followed by rebellion and the more unfaithful among the bunch abandoning ship.

 

                It was vital that no one caught on except the superiors.

 

                The blonde man forced a causal smile and shrugged.

 

“Can’t win them all. Anything else?”

 

                Sam nervously shuffled a moment, sending waves of regret through Dean for even asking. Of course there would be something else. Today really wasn't his day. Several stab wounds that had been inflicted on his vessel that day supported the statement.

 

“… Gabriel and Castiel Novak have traveled to a location with high levels of demon activity and demonic omens. They hold the belief that Lilith is residing there.”

 

"Well, does she?" Dean fired back.

 

"It isn't unlikely," came the reluctant response.

 

“Don’t tell me they think they can gank her,” Dean deadpanned.

 

                Sam made a noncommittal noise, descending into silence a moment. His words were carefully chosen when he spoke again. 

 

“It’s uncertain whether they believe they can kill her or not.”

 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean hissed, a hand flying up to run through his hair.

 

                Keeping them alive really was going to prove difficult if they continued following trails of information from undisclosed mystery sources. Were they actively trying to get themselves killed? Actively trying to make his life as difficult as they could possibly manage? Dean could only shake his head in disbelief. They were walking a razor-thin line between bravery and stupidity. It was a good thing Castiel was pretty, because maybe he didn't have half the brains everyone else thought he did, after all. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's rather short and fairly uneventful as well. Not my best work, but I did want to update tonight. There's a hearty helping of Destiel in the next chapter and maybe even a flash appearance by Ruby. Comment any errors you see or suggestions!
> 
> Cheers,   
> Sighanide xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel breaks a window and Dean hates his boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of gore in this chapter, but nothing too descriptive. Be forewarned.

**_Chapter 6_**           

 

 

               Castiel was deeply displeased. The entire day had been a bust.

 

                Every single lead had dissolved between their fingertips. It was frustrating.

               

               Every single person who had sighted on the demon, information, hell, anyone who might’ve caught air of Lilith seemed to have magically dropped off the face of the earth. It was strangely convenient (which meant that someone was actively trying to harm their success). After talking to the few supposed witnesses who were still around (and had either been crackheads, vastly unhelpful or both), Castiel had already compiled a list of what other forces might be at work.

 

                To top it off, Castiel had become utterly convinced that he was losing whatever fragments of sanity he was clinging onto. Every time he turned around, the brunette swore he caught flashes of plaid. At first, the younger Novak had thought nothing of it. Then the sightings had continued. His eyes were trained to seek out anyone who might be following him. And his eyes were telling him that he had a pursuer in plaid.

 

                Gabriel caught onto his brother’s increasing paranoia and tension. When Castiel had explained his suspicions after being prodded, Gabriel had dutifully listened. Then, his older brother had decided to take upon it to act like a sleuth from some classic novel, attempting to piece together clues by melodramatically questioning any passing pedestrian who wore clothing that held the faintest suspicion of plaid.

 

                It stung, albeit slightly, way to have his words taken lightly. There was something that seemed to be lingering in his brother’s eyes now, a subtle distrust. Gabriel had kept him on a tighter leash than ever before after his dalliance with Ruby in Gabriel's absence. No matter how much Castiel tried to deny or ignore it, it bothered him that his brother no longer seemed to trust his judgement.

 

                Castiel wondered if he might’ve been taken more seriously before Gabriel’s recess in Hell. Then he wondered just how much severe the distrust would become if Gabriel knew the full extent of Castiel’s extracurricular activities. The brunette really needed to get everything off his chest.

 

                Nothing worked in favor of Castiel’s mood. There wasn’t much happiness nowadays. A fleeting moment of rejoicing after a successful hunt, followed by dread upon the realization that another was in the works. Castiel was tired, in every sense of the word. There never seemed to be any rest anymore. He wanted options that were no longer available. Castiel was tired of the lifestyle, but he was too messed up to return to any other.

 

                And he was definitely tired of that damned plaid-clad thing sneaking behind them.

 

                Eventually, Castiel had grown entirely too fed up with catching glimpses of the figure that he formulated a plan. So for three blocks, the blue eyed man gave no hint of having caught on to his stalker. After lingering at a display in a boutique window, abruptly, Castiel had whipped around.

 

               And there was that streak of flannels and jeans ducking into an alleyway. It hadn’t been as stealthy and unnoticed as it had hoped. To trained eyes, at least. Castiel had sprinted down the entire block and swerved violently into the gap between buildings where the figure had disappeared. And the brunette had turned straight into an alleyway, void of any means of escape. There hadn’t been even so much as a fire escape. So, Castiel formulated three possibilities in that moment.

 

               Either his stalker was human and could scale thirty-foot brick walls in under a minute, could teleport or do something paranormal escape (Castiel was really getting tired of that vanishing act), or Castiel was simply going straight up batshit crazy.

 

               The younger Novak had chewed on that in the fifteen seconds it took for Gabriel to make the corner, all sixty-eight inches of him bitter at being outrun. Through pants, Gabriel had complained about tall people to himself between huffs.

 

                The cherry on top of all of that was that Dean swore the clothing perfectly resembled what Dean Winchester had been wearing when they’d met. The entire world seemed to be flipping him off.

 

                So, Castiel had practically ripped of his trench coat and stormed into the bathroom.

 

                He hated the sleazy motel rooms they stayed in, the yellowed bathrooms that never looked clean no matter how hard you scrubbed, restless sleep that come from the lumpy mattresses that filled him with aches the next day, the cigarette burns on their sheets and the smell of the previous occupants clogging their rooms. And Castiel really hated how disheveled and tired he looked when he forced his head up so that he could look at his face. But Castiel mostly hated how his once vibrant eyes had dulled to a glassy grayish blue.

 

                Gabriel silently watched his brother have his temper tantrum. His expression showed amusement, but the elder Novak feared the worry beneath would be apparent to someone who knew him as well as Castiel.

 

                Then he’d antagonistically eyed his bed (because beds meant sleep, which meant nightmares) until Castiel eventually emerged in his nightwear, followed by tendrils of steam sweeping through the room. Gabriel nearly made a comment on Castiel's girly bathroom habits before thinking better of it and entering to take a shower of his own. 

 

                Castiel was already asleep when Gabriel finished up in the bathroom. Gabriel silently padded over to Castiel’s duffel bag, removing the laptop without so much as a rustle. He set himself up in the corner in the name of research with his Smith and Wesson and Ruby’s Knife alongside red plastic cup full of whiskey. The man’s eyes wandered briefly to the window. He would protect what lay outside- a silent, sleeping world (not really, because a squadron of police cars blew past outside their motel and ruined his philosophical moment). He convinced himself the message remained and adjusted his focus back to the keys of the laptop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Castiel was studying. The world was strangely quiet, but Castiel was too absorbed in his textbooks on anatomy of the human heart to notice. His apartment, his old apartment, surrounded him. Pictures framed the bookshelves, some placed strategically in front of books on lore. Those had been collecting dust, though. The ones that had been touched recently were those on medical studies.

 

                Music played softly in the background. Sun peeked through curtains that swayed gently in a cool summer’s wind. Natural light filtered into the perfectly illuminated room in the perfect fashion. This was how it should’ve been.

 

                When the air behind him was disturbed, the breeze moving in a way it shouldn’t have, Castiel was too lost in his studies to notice. Human anatomy truly was a fascinating thing. The peace was broken by a voice that Castiel placed after a moment. It was deep and gruff in tone, but not so much as his own. 

 

“We need to talk,” it curtly stated.

 

                Castiel stiffened. Around him, everything abruptly seemed... softer at the edges. It was accompanied by the disheartening realization that the brunette was not actually in his treasured apartment, but sleeping somewhere in a seedy room. This was merely a figment of his imagination. Just as the Dean behind him wasn’t real. Of course his mind would take it upon itself to use one of the few people he’d actually liked against him. His Pre-Med days were gone, burnt to ashes like the apartment around him. But in an act of defiance, Castiel refused to divert his attention from a particularly riveting portion of his text on open heart surgery.

 

“Castiel,” it warned.

 

                Castiel stubbornly refused to look away from his book. Even as Dean walked around his couch to stand in front of him. His grip on his book tightened as he feared it might be pried away from him. The brunette was aware he was being observed. His subconscious was probably going to go on another rant about how horrible of a brother he was, how he was going to end up forcing his friends to hunt him. Castiel hated his subconscious.

 

“Are you just going to bury your face in that book or act like a reasonable adult?” the fake Dean asked in exasperation. 

 

                Castiel snapped at that. He looked up, dull eyes flashing to life with anger. Then, he chucked his book straight at the fake Dean, regardless of how offended he looked at that. It flew true, striking the fake Dean in the jaw. The blonde staggered back a step, scowling.

 

“Do you honestly believe reasonable adults chase after demons that will stop at nothing to kill us?” Castiel asked, deathly quiet. “I attempted to be a reasonable adult. I attended an honorable Pre-Medical program after a lifetime of excellent marks during my classes. I rented an apartment. I courted a wonderful individual. I left reasonable behind when my brother dragged me from my apartment while it was engulfed in flames with Jess on the ceiling. Reasonable adults are not worried about the possibility of dying every time they awaken to go to work. Reasonable adults do not actively chase after the paranormal- they actively avoid it. I do not need a lecture on being reasonable.”

 

                The apparition of Dean was speechless. Castiel didn’t know quite why it pleased him so much. Or why his subconscious hadn’t already known that and come up with an equally bitter response that would send Castiel reeling. Maybe the younger Novak had finally convinced himself that it had been for the best. So Castiel victoriously retrieved his book and returned to sitting on the couch.

 

“What reason would I have to wish to talk with you to start with?” Castiel sharply questioned, effectively trying to end the conversation by diverting his focus back to his book.

 

                Dean had obviously touched a nerve and now was sent to wonder exactly what he was supposed to say.

 

“You weren’t supposed to be so sensitive,” he muttered to himself.

 

                Obviously, the angel hadn’t been as quiet as he’d hoped. Castiel’s eyes turned on him. For a moment, Dean could’ve sworn that his naturally blue eyes flashed black. The human’s face was contorted in what Dean labelled as rage, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed into slits. Dean was fairly certain the book might be thrown his way again until Castiel went slack.

 

                The mask of anger fell away, revealing the drained state of a fatigued man.

 

“If you wish to chastise me for all my mistakes, there’s little you could say that hasn’t occurred to me before.”

 

                Dean watched Castiel measure him up, clearly trying to will him out of his mind. Dean, who was indeed very real and indeed no figment of Castiel’s unconscious mind, was unsure of how to proceed. In real life, Castiel had been guarded. But now that there was no one else to see, every defense had slipped away. What reason would Castiel have to fear interlopers in his own mind, after all?

 

                Angels. That was why, Dean thought to himself. Not that Castiel knew of their presence on Earth. Or that one was currently invading his dreaming mind. Hell, Castiel had no idea that he’d even met not one, but two, angels. Dean wondered how smoothly it would go over if the blonde simply spilled everything to the man. Maybe it would restore faith that had been strong, but now sat on a swaying, crumbled foundation.

 

                Prayers that had once flown steady to Heaven were diminishing to an irregular trickle. Castiel was losing his faith.

 

                But Dean had his orders. Gain the Novaks trust, then essentially hang them out to dry (no, Dean reminded himself, shaking his head, this was for the best- even if they didn’t see it). Informing them of his and Sam's angelic state had no art in their plan.

 

                He had his orders. There was a greater good to focus on. There was much he could not see, that the will of Heaven understood.

 

                But as much as Dean tried to convince himself, he couldn’t smother the flame of intrigue that had been sparked when Castiel first laid puzzled eyes onto him. Humans were complex things, but he couldn’t fall victim to the interest that was slowly claiming Sam. It was his job to steer both of them back into following Heaven’s Will.

 

                Dean looked Castiel over once. The brunette’s eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, had never strayed away from Dean.

 

“You don’t have the power to take on Lilith right now,” Dean simply stated.

 

                Castiel sighed, like he had known that all along. A resigned look sunk over him. When he spoke again, his tone held only a spark of determination.

 

“What am I expected to do? I refuse to continue consuming demon blood.”

 

                Dean thought nothing of that a moment. Zachariah had assured them that Castiel would be the one to kill Lilith. And then, the words hit him in full force. He staggered backwards. Then, he could see it. Castiel was unclean. That much Dean had known. But not only with Azazel's blood. There was something else there, something else that was equally malicious. He should’ve noticed it earlier.

 

                But Dean had chalked up the uncleanliness to Azazel’s blood. If only he’d paid closer attention, he might’ve noticed that there was far too much evil in the brunette.

 

                This was… Dean was unsure of how to describe it. Blasphemy was the word most suited.

 

                Castiel observed him with keen eyes. The younger Novak was picking up on what would qualify for odd behavior for Castiel's own mind. 

 

                Something was niggling in the back of Castiel’s mind. There was something that wasn’t entirely right that he couldn’t place. Was this some cruel punishment to try to explain himself to himself?

 

“Demon blood. Demon blood?!” Dean incredulously shouted once he regained the ability to speak.

 

                Castiel was unsure of how to label the angel’s expression. There were a few things, but what stuck out most was how repelled he looked. Castiel scowled in disgust and begun to urge himself to awaken. He didn’t need to take this right now.

 

                Then, Dean’s hand shot out and gripped Castiel’s shoulder. The repulsion hadn’t left, but something else was beneath it now. Concern.

 

“Forget that right now. If I know that you aren’t ready to take on Lilith, then you can damn well bet Lilith knows it, too. This is a trap and you’ve fallen straight into it. Get out before she sends-!”

 

                Dean was abruptly cut off as Castiel unceremoniously jerked awake as gunfire rattled through the motel room. Castiel’s eyes flew widely around the room until he spotted Gabriel pressed into the corner as a trio of demons converged in on him. His brother was shouting something, but Castiel couldn’t make out what.

 

                Gabriel fired at the nearest demon, then surged forwards with a stab as the bullet temporarily unsteadied him. Ruby’s Knife plunged deep into the demon’s abdomen to a dismayed scream. Beneath the demon’s skin, orange light flashed until it sunk dead to the ground. Gabriel dislodged the weapon with a tug then turned on the others that surrounded him. His gun crackled to life once more, a practiced series of stabs and slices following each bullet hitting its mark.

 

                Castiel didn’t have any more time to watch. The brunette only heard the slightest of rustles to the left with less than a second to react. On instinct, the younger Novak rolled away. A knife plunged into the pillow where his head had been seconds before. His attacker, a demon in the vessel of a young woman, hissed a curse.

 

                Bad didn’t even begin to describe the situation. It was the dead of night, so of course they were fighting nearly blind. The lights were all out, nothing but a small square of light from the laptop to cast an eerie blue glow across the room. Castiel’s eyes struggled to accustom to the darkness while their attackers recovered.

 

                Castiel yanked the gun from beneath his pillow, rolled off the opposite side of the bed- then fired. His aim was off, merely clipping one of the demons on the side of the head instead of blowing his skull apart. He caught the rustle of fabric behind him, before dropping to the floor as a bullet flew above his head. The brunette could hear the whistle of the bullet, his ears uselessly ringing in temporary deafness. Castiel didn’t have time to recover before he was violently thrown across the room.

 

                The brunette viciously smashed into a wall. Plaster dust fell from the area of his impact onto him, impairing his vision even further. His head pounded, skull aching. Gabriel was being overwhelmed in the corner as three demons converged in on him from what he could make out. The younger Novak rapidly blinked to clear his fuzzy vision.

 

                He caught sight of mediocre light glinting off steel. His eyes flitted to the glint, landing on his gun. A quick glance up confirmed he had a small opening. Then,

Castiel made a scramble for his discarded P38.

 

                In the corner, Gabriel had emptied the chamber of his gun. If there still weren’t about three demons coming at him, this might not have been a problem. However, they were. Added onto this, the ammunition to reload his gun was between him and approximately three demons. The demons grinned as his gun clicked with the telltale sign of an empty weapon.

 

“Looks like your toy won’t help you now,” the nearest one remarked.

 

                Gabriel snarled at the demon, then hurled it right at the smirking face of the speaker. Based on the crack of a nose being broken, he succeeded. His target stumbled backwards and Gabriel used the brief distraction to lurch forwards and slash at the exposed throat. For a moment, the demons crowded around him in awed and frightened silence.

 

                Then, they came at him all at once.

 

                Castiel groaned as he came short of his gun while a booted foot came down on top of his hand. The boot seemed to have little inclination to move, choosing to grind his extremity into the carpet. The demon’s companion sent a crippling kick to Castiel’s ribs. The third watched in contempt.

 

                The brunette wheezed for air, helplessly watching as his gun was kicked away.

 

“You killed one of my friends, you know,” one of his attackers hissed into his ear.

 

                Castiel might’ve made a remark if his head wasn’t still fogged with an insufferable amount of pain from being chucked into a wall. He distantly heard an alarmed shout from the other end of the room, followed by the breaking of glass. It did more to clear his head than any amount of adrenaline or caffeine could’ve done. Castiel practically vibrated with barely contained energy.

 

              Once he was certain the timing was right, Castiel jerked his elbow backwards in the general direction of the whispering demon with as much force as he could muster. 

               

                Dangling a foot off the ground, shoved against a wall and having his head slammed repeatedly into a window was not what Gabriel had pictured when he imagined his death. Not like this. It needed to be at some beautiful mansion where he sacrificed himself to save the Universe. Not at the hands of some low level demon in a motel room that charged by the hour.

 

                Gabriel clawed at the hands that covered his throat, lashing out with kicks that did nothing but amuse his captor. Surely the demon had chosen a bouncer as a vessel to do exactly this. His fruitless struggling was only met with his head being slammed harder into the window behind him until at last, the glass shattered with a particularly violent blow.

 

                Gabriel was severely incapacitated by that point, bordering on unconsciousness. Glass shards dug into his head, slicing at the nape of his neck. His eyes drooping and breathing went erratic. His last weapon- the demon knife- was being turned over in the hands of one of the demons Gabriel hadn’t managed to take out. His gun was AWOL. Dancing between unconsciousness and consciousness left him unable to make sense of the howl from the other end of the room.

 

                Castiel’s elbow hit the demon woman in the eye socket, sending her reeling backwards. It gave him the ability to draw the butterfly knife tucked into a concealed pocket. The first demon who lunged at him was met with a slash to the ankle, followed in quick succession by another to the back of his knee. He scrambled to get his back against the wall, watching as the unharmed one approached him.

 

                Then, the brunette stumbled onto his feet. His arm shot out, almost involuntarily. The demon immediately went from confusion to panic. It attempted to lunge at him, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier.

 

                Castiel’s eye twitched as black smoke billowed from one of his attacker’s throats. His heart sped up to dangerous rates, sweat beading on his forehead. The other attacker currently was clutching a slashed tendon, courtesy of Castiel’s butterfly knife. The smoke billowed down to the floor in puffs as a circle opened. Castiel didn’t divert his attention to gaze at the fiery hole that seemingly led straight to Hell.

 

                His legs shook beneath him, though he kept his extended hand steady with focus. Every cell in his body burned as if molten lava flowed through his veins. His head throbbed long before the last remnants of black smoke were coughed out of the demon’s vessel.

 

                Daggers stabbed him as a trickle of blood flooded from his nose when his hand at last fell to his side. At least he’d gained the attention of the remaining demons now, diverting their attention from Gabriel.

 

                The particular burly one holding his brother hostage released Gabriel with a wicked grin. Castiel’s mind filled with rage as Gabriel limply slumped on the ground. Castiel eyed his opponents from across the room. Weaponless and weak did not make a good combination. In a burst of speed, the brunette was at the bag of weapons. By the time Castiel had spun around with a pistol that he sincerely hoped was loaded, he fired two shots point-blank into the chest of the burly demon.

 

                The last one left standing, who held Ruby’s Knife with a defeated look, realized her days were numbered in the form of zero if she lingered a moment longer. Smoke poured from her vessel and out the broken window.

 

                With a monstrosity of effort, Castiel forced legs weighed down like led to trudge to his brother. Castiel checked the abandoned vessel for a pulse first. Upon encountering a feeble one, he pocketed Ruby’s knife in case reinforcement returned, then turned to his brother.

 

                Gabriel was utterly out of it. He didn’t recognize Castiel when dilated eyes fluttered open, spoke in gibberish, floating in and out of awareness. Castiel hissed a swear, then looked around the abandoned room. It certainly looked like a battlefield, with some eight bodies littering the floor.

 

                Realizing the urgency to escape before either the police or demons returned, Castiel’s mind cleared. He gathered their items in a flurry of movement, threw his brother over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, then dialed 911 on the phone.

 

“5234 Harrison Street, the Dew Drop Inn. An ambulance will be required,” Castiel vaguely stated before leaving the phone handing on the cord and racing out of the room.

 

                The younger Novak haphazardly threw their items into the backseat of the Impala, alongside his unconscious brother and tore out of the parking lot right as the police begun to pour in.

 

                In the mirror, he glanced at the boneless form of his bleeding brother in the backseat. Then, he fished his phone out of his trench coat.

 

“Ruby, I require your services.”

 

             It took another two hours before Castiel felt comfortable exiting the car. He pulled off the Interstate onto a barren countryside road. Stalks of corn waved in the wind, concealing anything that decided to take refuge inside. Castiel grabbed his weapons before exiting the front seat to check on his brother.

 

             Castiel stitched up his woozy brother, painstakingly removed each shard of glass from each bleeding injury, then left him in the backseat of the Impala. The countryside was alive with sound in the darkness as he walked along the lonely dirt road. Castiel wandered some ways away from the Impala until at last he felt the skin at the back of his neck prickle.

 

                He turned to see Ruby sizing him up. Her eyes wandered over him, taking in the disheveled state and blood splattered clothing. 

 

“Been getting chummy with demons?” she snarkily deduced.

 

                Castiel let out a noncommittal noise. Indeed, the younger Novak had sustained injuries from the hunt, though not as severe as his brother. Gabriel had drawn the majority of their attention.

 

“I would use a different word,” Castiel admitted.

 

                Ruby tilted her head to the side, then crossed her arms.

 

“Where’s your bossy brother?”

 

“He is currently comatose in the Impala.”

 

                Castiel failed to notice the smirk that news brought to Ruby’s lips.

 

“Good. I don’t have to listen to him bitching.”

 

                Castiel didn’t reply, much to Ruby’s annoyance. Obviously her sense of humor wasn’t properly appreciated with him. Castiel wordlessly removed her knife from his trench coat, offering it to her. Ruby accepted it, then glanced back up at Castiel.

 

“What changed your mind?”

 

                With that, he thought back to what had happened in his dream. Then, he thought back to Gabriel’s damaged form hunkered in the backseat of the Impala. It was all the motivation Castiel needed.

 

“The same reason why I started in the first place,” came the ever stilted reply.

 

                Ruby chewed on that a moment, then smirked.

 

"Then let's get to it, angel."

 

"I am not an angel," Castiel replied, unexpected steel in his voice.

 

                In his mind, Castiel was just about as far away as he could get from being an angel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Dean was in a reunion of his own. With a smarmy jackass that Dean felt inclined to punch, although he never went through with it in fear of being smited. Maybe if he were polite, Zachariah might let him plead his case.

 

“Zachariah-,” Dean begun.

 

“No,” came the cheery reply, the cheeriness likely originating from getting to shoot Dean down.

 

                That was quicker than usual, though. Dean clenched his fists to resist the urge to wipe the smug smile from his superior’s face. Zachariah must have read him easy enough, because he conceitedly continued.

 

“At a guess, you want to station yourself closer to the misguided Novak boy to fend off threats to his wellbeing.”

 

“He’s being corrupted-,” Dean begun to argue, only to be hushed.

 

“Yes, we’ve been aware of this for some time. This is all part of God’s plan-,” Zachariah stated.

 

                In a lapse of judgement Dean knew he was going to regret later, he released an outburst of rebellion that had been building for thousands of years.

 

“Don’t give me that God’s Will bullshit! He wouldn’t allow one of his creations to guzzle demon blood! Castiel is supposed to be stopping Lilith, not sympathizing with her army!”

 

“Is that what he said he was doing?” Zachariah asked, though Dean knew based off that expression that Zachariah already knew.

 

                Dean didn’t take the bait. The blonde gritted his teeth and wordlessly glared at Zachariah.

 

“You better watch your tone with me, Dean,” the greyed man continued, almost disappointed at Dean’s lack of verbal backlash.

 

                Dean had no plans to do any such thing. 

 

“Everything will happen in its own time. It might be unsavory, but it’s necessary. We aren’t doing well in this war. Castiel can finish this. You’ll understand that this is the best option.”

 

“And what about Castiel? Do you think it’s good for him? Do you really think that his brother is going to willingly be Michael’s vessel when he finds out we let his brother guzzle demon blood behind his back?” Dean challenged in hardly more than a strained whisper.

 

                The shocked silence that followed and Zachariah’s incredulous expression made Dean’s heart swell with pride.  

 

“You’re coming dangerously close to disobedience, Dean,” Zachariah warned. “You don’t serve man, let alone one human. Castiel needs the demon blood to take down Lilith in order to prevent the apocalypse. Would you really let the apocalypse happen to save a single human?”

 

                Dean didn’t reply.

 

“I think you’re growing fond of him of your little human. And if you aren’t careful, this fondness of yours will lead to rebellion,” his boss concluded, circling him.

 

                Zachariah took a step forwards and Dean dug into all his self-control to resist shoving away his superior.

 

“You ought to watch yourself carefully,” the elder angel warned.

 

                Then Dean was standing alone in a warehouse. He stared into space for a moment, then mumbled a defeated apology to Castiel before zapping himself to his next post.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? This was a pretty hefty update, but I found myself to be pretty satisfied. Either way, the brothers are headed to Bobby's! The human brothers, at least. As always, point out any errors. Leave any suggestions in the comment. Thanks for reading ^~^
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel cooks a pie and Sam does not understand basic expressions.

**_Chapter 7_**  

 

 

                Castiel eventually pulled into the lot of skeletonized cars. His brother was groaning unintelligibly in the backseat, mumbling something in his sleep. Castiel couldn’t quite make out the exact words, but it seemed to be unpleasant in nature. When Castiel tried to remove his boneless sibling, he fluttered to vague awareness. 

 

                Gabriel’s eyes flitted about, unable to focus on one particular thing. He absentmindedly pushed away Castiel’s outstretched hands, attempting to exit the Impala himself. It didn’t go according to plan, because the first thing Gabriel did was faceplant into the dirt. He hadn’t even made it to his feet. The elder brother shot Castiel a pointed look.

 

“Let’s not mention this again,” was what Castiel thought he said. It was fairly garbled and slurred, so the younger Novak might’ve been mistaken.

 

                Castiel ended up having to carry him to Bobby’s front door after it became apparent that Gabriel’s legs were not going to function. The brunette rang the doorbell with his elbow. It took several minutes and rings for Bobby to reach the door- likely having been buried in research. By then Castiel’s knees were buckling with the strain and he was on the brink of dropping his sibling.

 

                Bobby examined them thoroughly through the peephole.

 

“Where’s your brother?” he gruffly questioned through the door.

 

                Castiel tilted his head down in reference to his sibling. The door swung open at that. Bobby examined the thick layers of gauze and stitching Gabriel had accumulated, then swore.

 

“You idjits,” he snapped, ushering them inside.

 

                Castiel was on the brink of defending himself before giving a halfhearted shrug. The scent of stale beer and dusty tomes greeted him as he entered. Hardly a surface in the living room wasn’t covered by an assortment of books that had laid untouched for years- brought out in hopes of preventing Armageddon. Bobby cleared the couch of clutter, motioning for Castiel to lay down Gabriel.

 

                The moment Castiel had dumped his brother on the old couch in the den, Bobby handed him a beer. If the brunette were uniformed, he might’ve refused it. However, the younger Novak was well aware of Bobby’s ritual of lacing beer with holy water. Refusing would only increase the old man’s suspicion.

 

                So, Castiel reluctantly accepted, casting a longing gaze at Bobby’s liquor cabinet. He really needed something stronger.

 

“What the hell did you morons get yourselves into?” Bobby questioned.

 

                Gabriel watched the exchange with lazily drifting eyes, prompting Castiel to wonder if he should’ve driven his elder sibling to a hospital. As far as his medical training went, Gabriel ought to be fine with a good deal of R&R. However, his medical training was incomplete- although it had been quite useful in stitching and caring for any others wounds they accumulated on hunts.

 

                Castiel took a long swig from his beer before facing Bobby.

 

“We were pursuing a lead on Lilith. She sent a hoard of demons after us.”

 

"And you fought them off?" the older man incredulously asked.

 

"With a moderate degree of success, yes."

 

                Bobby squinted his eyes, mouth agape in utter disbelief caused in equal measures by their stupidity and by their skill. Castiel was prepared for a verbal lashing- but Bobby must’ve seen the lines of weariness etched into Castiel’s face. The elder hunter cast a frustrated look towards the ceiling.

 

"Y'know the last time you idjits pulled a stunt like this, your brother got shredded into ribbons."

 

                The brunette had no decent reply, so Bobby wordlessly left to order something to eat after a noise of exasperation.

 

                Castiel knew better than to follow or request something for his own order. The brunette sunk heavily into the armchair opposite the couch, sending a cloud of dust dancing through the meager sunlight from shuttered windows.

 

                The younger Novak stared at his brother a long time through lidded eyes. His options were severely limited. No matter how he looked at it, Gabriel would be in no state to hunt within at least a week. Then, in naïve hopes that maybe someone was listening, he prayed for his brother’s health to be restored. 

 

                Castiel eventually transported his brother upon nightfall to the single guest room in the house, dumping him unceremoniously onto the bed. At one point perhaps they’d been able to share the bed, but with Gabriel’s liberally sprawled limbs and snoring- not to mention their respective sizes- Castiel inferred those days were over. The younger brother instead claimed the sagging couch downstairs as his own for the night.

 

                It almost bothered the brunette that it was still an upgrade from his usual lodging. Castiel didn’t bother to cover himself in sheets- it would only restrict his movements if a quick awakening was needed. Even with Ruby’s concealing hex bags and Bobby’s protective sigils covering every inch of wall space, Castiel still felt unsafe. Even with his P38 only inches away from his hand on the coffee table.

 

                He wasn’t ever sure if he would feel secure again. The younger Novak supposed feeling safe was a liberty he’d given up- albeit unintentionally- when he’d willingly followed his brother out to the Impala on the last official day of his college career.

 

                It was a long time before Castiel forced himself to shut his eyes. It was longer still before he fell asleep.

 

                Castiel woke up sometime mid-morning to the smell of chocolate. His eyes snapped open, alert. They were followed by his head whipping towards the smell, tracing it to the kitchen.

 

                Castiel frowned in confusion upon seeing a rare sight. Gabriel was cooking in the kitchen, singing off-key to whatever song was playing in the radio. Of course the source of Gabriel’s affections wasn’t a healthy breakfast- rather a diabetes inducing chocolate pie. But the point remained the same.

 

                The brunette stared at his brother with perplexed eyes. Ten hours before, Gabriel couldn’t have walked more than two steps without falling down or stringed together more than five coherent words. And now he was domestically baking in the kitchen. Gabriel noticed his brother frowning at him and raised his brows.

 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel declared, eyes fixed on his brother as he walked into the kitchen.

 

“That’s hardly new,” Gabriel joked, dipping a finger into his batter.

 

                The elder Novak hummed his approval and went about stirring the mixture. Castiel examined him for any signs of abnormal behavior, but found none. All of his medical training pointed him to the conclusion that this was highly illogical- if not downright impossible.

 

“How do you feel?” Castiel questioned.

 

“I’m fine, Cassie, really,” Gabriel replied, distracted as he spooned more batter into his mouth.

 

“Eating raw eggs-,” Castiel disapprovingly begun, natural doctor instincts kicking in.

 

                Gabriel rolled his eyes and jerked his spatula in Castiel’s direction, spraying the younger with chocolate batter. The brunette disdainfully stared at the chocolate staining his face and shirt while Gabriel’s face went from “oops” to attempting to withhold laughter.

 

“I think I’ll take my chances with salmonella. At least I’ll die happy,” Gabriel replied.

 

“Yesterday, your skull was used as a battering ram against a window," Castiel slowly stated.

 

“Oh, yeah. I lost that encounter, didn’t I?” Gabriel bemusedly recalled.

 

“You were thoroughly sliced by glass shards, yes. That was one of perhaps ten debilitating injuries that are the reason you should not currently be standing,” Castiel continued.

 

                Gabriel chewed on that a moment, then shrugged.

 

“The Gods favor me,” he dismissively replied, turning back to his pie.

 

                At that, the memory of Castiel’s prayer for his brother’s well-being surfaced. Castiel considered that throughout the day as he observed Gabriel’s spry and mostly normal behavior. Either way, even the possibility that a benign third party had been involved significantly improved the brunette’s mood. Even though, in his experience, it probably wasn’t as benevolent as he hoped. However, Castiel was currently willing to take any luck that they could harvest.

 

                Castiel chose to broach the topic of his psychic dream before the demon attack several hours later as Gabriel voraciously attacked a thick slice of his cooked pie. If there was a time when Gabriel would be in a good mood, it would be now.

 

“I dreamt of being warned about Lilith-,”

 

“I know,” Gabriel replied, waving his fork dismissively about.

 

                Castiel’s face was furrowed in confusion. Before he got a word in, Gabriel continued.

 

“You were talking in your sleep. By the times the demons rudely busted through the door, I was already armed. I tried to wake you up, but the tossed me into the corner before I could do anything,” Gabriel explained.

 

                Castiel stared intently at his brother.

 

“Were you going to leave this unmentioned?”

 

“I was waiting to see if you would bring it up,” Gabriel indifferently replied with a wave of his hand.

 

                Castiel was unsure of what to do with that piece of information. Maybe if the brunette had nothing to hide, he might’ve had reason to be angry that his brother had played him, albeit subtly. But Castiel did have things to hide, things he really needed to explain- and perhaps it might restore some of Gabriel’s trust in him if he did so himself. So, for the moment, the younger brother hesitantly let the intrusion of privacy and general distrust slide.

 

                Then, remembering that he’d mentioned everything incriminating about himself in the dream, panic clawed at him. Castiel fought to keep it down, forcing a straight face.

 

“What did you overhear while eavesdropping on me as I slept?” Castiel asked in a stilted tone.

 

                Gabriel shrugged.

 

“Not much. You were babbling something about reasonableness, then mistakes. You thrashed around a lot. It was hard to hear what you were going on about.”

 

"I would appreciate if you did not eavesdrop in on my unconscious ramblings in the future," Castiel requested after a considering pause.

 

"Duly noted," Gabriel wryly replied.

 

                Castiel tried not to make it apparent how he slumped with relief when that particular part of the conversation was dropped. Gabriel did, indeed, catch the way his brother relaxed. The elder Novak chalked it up to nightmares- which he was hardly in a position to criticize his brother for. In the brief period Gabriel had dozed off the night prior, his dreams featured Hellhounds ripping him apart- the reason why he’d risen early to bake in order to distract himself. It was better than sitting in darkness in a silent room where the slightest of noises sent him fumbling for his absent gun (Gabriel had retrieved his confiscated gun from the trunk of the Impala earlier that morning- he felt significantly better with it tucked into his waistband).

 

                Gabriel couldn’t necessarily blame his sibling for wishing to be undisturbed during his sleep- not with the Apocalypse menacingly looming over their heads on top of everything else. The hazel eyed man doubted that Castiel's dreams were all rainbows and puppies.                             

 

                The elder Novak scooped another portion of pie into his mouth, suspiciously eyeing the demon trap painted on the ceiling. Bobby really had gone all out with the decorations. It would probably stave off any solicitors, at least, Gabriel mused.

 

“So, what? You think it was another psychic dream?” he carefully asked, noting how Castiel stiffened.

 

“It was different from my prior experiences,” the brunette admitted. “There was more of an underlying sense of awareness. The previous visions lacked the same sense of clarity. Unlike the others where I could only observe, I had a sense of control.”

 

“Did you see anything else? Something we might need to watch out for?”

 

                Castiel slowly shook his head.

 

“I remain uncertain whether this dream was of the same nature as the others. There were no premonitions of the future. I was simply speaking to an apparition inside my mind that took on the appearance of Dean Winchester.”

 

                Gabriel chewed on that awhile.

 

“Might not be a psychic dream, then. Maybe it’s just your subconscious trying to warn you that we’re a couple of dumbasses,” the elder Novak wryly suggested, making a face. “Either way, I’ll ask Bobby to look into it for us.”

 

                Castiel managed a noncommittal noise. It hadn’t felt like his own dream, but what Gabriel was suggesting was logical. Perhaps Castiel had just been lucid dreaming. He (mostly) failed to convince himself.

 

“There’s only one thing I can think of that would give us a definite no,” the elder thoughtfully added.

 

“What would that be?”

 

                Castiel knew he’d taken unknowingly taken the bait when Gabriel leaned in with his elbows on the table, smirking like a Cheshire cat.

 

“What was Winchester wearing?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Castiel hadn’t gotten Gabriel’s streak of healing luck. After he could remove his stitches without easily reopening the wounds, Bobby had redirected them to a small town where some guy had died from swallowing four razor blades concealed inside a piece of candy. Most definitely sketchy, to say the least. Gabriel had driven them there, already restless and fidgeting from sitting stagnant at Bobby’s house for several days.

 

                From what Castiel understood, he’d spent the entire time repairing the damages to his car. The Impala was gleaming with a new coat of paint, the damaged pieces replaced by those his brother had scavenged from Bobby’s junkyard. Rock blared on the cassette player throughout nearly the entire drive.

 

                It had eventually incited Castiel to hide the cassettes in the trunk, prompting his brother to sulk and to do everything in his power- or in his responsibilities as the elder brother, as Gabriel had diplomatically put it- to ensure that Castiel didn’t sleep until his cassettes were returned.

 

                Castiel was near ready to throttle his brother by the time he escaped from the car. His brother could see it clearly on the brunette’s face. It was met with a self-satisfied smirk.

 

“Quit moping, Cassie.”

 

“I am not moping,” Castiel snapped in reply.

 

“Really? ‘Cuz it seems like you’ve been bitter ever since you last saw Ken Doll.”

 

"I am not bitter," Castiel bitterly replied, with a bitter expression on his face.

 

                Gabriel pointed that out. Castiel glared at him, no defensive reply coming to mind. The smirk on Gabriel’s face only grew.

 

                They went through their routine upon checking into their seedy motel. Both preened themselves until they were presentable, they changed from their usual hunting attire into knockoff high-end suits, and then drove to the scene of the crime.

 

               By now, it was easy to feign an air of superiority- the exact kind of aura that actual FBI would flaunt as they walked onto a scene with what they would consider little more than grunts. Hardly a glance was paid to the minor officials that swirled around them, only the occasional flash of their badges. Then, Gabriel eyes swiveled to the area of the room where two men were interviewing their witness.

 

               The elder brother caught Castiel’s arm. The brunette shot him a questioning look, faltering midstep until Gabriel jerked his head in the direction of the witness. Then, Castiel stopped entirely. On the opposite side of the room, the Winchesters spoke to the increasingly confused wife of the dead man.

 

               The stares of the Novaks must’ve attracted their attention- soon enough, Sam noticed them and directed a brilliant smile their way. Gabriel thought it might’ve been mostly aimed at him, but he couldn’t be certain. Castiel definitely seemed to have brightened from his mopey state.

 

               Dean glanced over soon after that. While the elder angel wasn’t surprised in the least to see the brothers, he was certain he did a good job of feigning a double take. The angels excused themselves from the witness, then crossed the room in few strides.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Gabriel declared as the brothers stopped short in front of them.

 

                Sam met him with puppy eyes wide in befuddlement.

 

“What reason would we have to talk about Lucifer?”

 

                Gabriel blinked, furrowing his brows.

 

“It’s an expression, Sammy,” Dean wearily replied, as if it were something common for the duo.

 

                Then, he turned to Castiel.

 

“I was worried you were beginning to think I wasn’t going to make good on my threat to see you again. It’s good to see you again,” Dean grinned.

 

                Gabriel wondered how long it’d been since Castiel had smiled that way.

 

“I share the sentiment,” Castiel replied.

 

“I would’ve given you my number, but the thing that crawled from the lagoon had trashed both of phones earlier that week,” Dean continued, fishing around in his pocket and withdrawing a phone.

 

                Gabriel believed a soccer mom from the nineties might’ve used a similar model. It was a Nokia. An actual Nokia. At least it looked durable. Dean caught his Gabriel’s vaguely horrified stare, snorting in response.

 

“This is the only kind I’ve been able to teach Sam to use. The store was short of anything else, anyways.”

 

“You can't work a smart phone? How old are you?” Gabriel jokingly asked, looking to Sam.

 

“I lost track of my age several millennium ago,” Sam replied.

 

                It was spoken without any trace of humor, the brunette’s face drawn into complete seriousness. He would make a great actor, the elder Novak mused. Strange sense of humor included. Gabriel found it to be strangely endearing.

 

                Dean was less amused, giving his brother side-eye. Sam gave him an innocent look, an underlying sense of puzzlement in his eyes. When it became clear Sam was going to need a verbal- and likely lengthy- explanation on why saying his actual age would be frowned upon in society due to its mocking air, Dean sighed.

 

"Later, Sam," he murmured. Then, the green eyed man faced the other pair of brothers. "How have you all been doing, apart from the end of the world?"

 

“Oh, me? I'm great. Castiel’s been brooding since-,” Gabriel begun to answer.

 

                He was silenced by a severe glare from his brother, informing Gabriel that if he continued he was liable to awaken with various stab wounds.

 

                Dean bit back a smirk.

 

                Sam only looked confused.

 

                Gabriel was thankfully saved as the sheriff walked up to them, brows low in displeasure.

 

“What? The bureau didn’t think one team could handle a single murder, so they sent another?”

 

“Classified. Let us do our jobs- your men do theirs,” Dean fired back.

 

                The sheriff begun to protest, mouth already open to form a reply. Dean decidedly ignored him and looked to the Novaks.

 

“Shall we?” the blonde asked, lips curling in a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little longer to get out than I planned. Nonetheless, I was pretty satisfied with it. I made a rough draft of the plot for the rest of the fic, so I at least now have a good idea of where things are headed. This is basically just setting up the Samhain plotline- in which Destiel and Sabriel will be abundant. Please leave your feedback in the comments- it really helps me out! As always, thanks for reading ^~^
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is grossed out and Dean continues to hate Uriel.

**_Chapter 8_**  

 

 

                It had all been a matter of distracting the distraught wife long enough for Gabriel and Sam to discover the hex bag. The wife, of course, had been completely useless. However, Castiel was long since used to such uselessness and working around it. Dean seemed a bit more miffed at her ambiguity and frustration with them, although he didn’t word it.

 

“Is this what you deal with on a daily basis?” he murmured as Gabriel lifted the hex bag, then jerked his head towards the door.

 

“Yes. A considerable quantity of our time is devoted to working through the unconstructive feedback of witnesses,” Castiel replied.

 

                Dean snorted at that. Castiel was unsure of what to make of the exchange when Gabriel and Sam joined them out on the porch.

 

“I hate witches. Goddamn it,” Gabriel hissed upon examining the hex bag closer.

 

                Dean flinched at the blasphemy, although no one saw. Sam was less conditioned to such abuse, instinctively chiding,

 

“Don’t use the Father’s name in vain.”

 

                Gabriel and Dean simultaneously rolled their eyes, albeit for different reasons.

 

“You and Cas should have Bible Study together,” the elder Novak drily remarked as he bounded down the steps.

 

                The man tossed the hex bag to his brother, then glanced back to the so-called Winchesters.

 

“Where are you all staying?”

 

“A motel down off main-street. What was it?” Dean vaguely explained, glancing to Sam.

 

                Obviously his brother took the words at face value, as they obviously weren't staying at a rundown motel, offering his brother a confused look. Dean got the impression Sam was about to say something contradictory to his evasion of a direct answer when Gabriel thankfully stepped in.

 

“The Red Sea? Something like that,” Gabriel contemptuously replied, recalling their latest abode without a trace of fondness.

 

“Right,” Dean answered, feigning having recollection.

 

                Sam took the cue when Dean jabbed his side and resolutely nodded.

 

"Great minds think alike," Gabriel wryly replied.

 

"So do empty wallets," Dean replied, every bit as wryly. 

 

                The barren motel would at least be more tolerable with the brothers of interest staying there, the elder Novak mused after a snort. And Castiel’s interest seemed to have been pricked once more, based on the way he straightened.

 

"Hunting isn't exactly a high-paying job. Why would witches murder people if they could mojo yourself piles of cash? Seems like better revenge to me," Gabriel bitterly muttered. 

 

“Agreed. Witches are tricky bastards. Nothing like finding a hex bag in your mattress after some sneaky bitch gives you the slip,” Dean noted, mimicking unease.

 

“It might be just as well if we were to aid each other,” Castiel proposed.

 

                The elder angel resisted the urge to shot the brunette an appreciative look at having his job done for him. There wasn’t too much to humans, really. All Dean had done was plant the seed of suggestion for an idea this time- it had sprouted for itself.

 

                Gabriel took no longer than a second to dwell on it before seconding the notion with a bob of his head. Sam quenched the pang of regret that coursed through him upon observing their blind trust. They seemed much more malleable than the tales had implied- certainly more so than the younger angel had expected.

 

                Sam disliked the way the humans were so trusting of them. Perhaps Gabriel followed Sam not on blind faith- but rather a subconscious recollection that Sam had been the one who had gripped him tightly and raised him from Perdition. Humans were multi-layered in a way the angel had yet to understand. For all he knew, it might’ve been a combination or several factors or none of the ones he’d considered at all. The brunette wanted to believe the former. Mostly, he wanted to tell the Novaks the truth.

 

                But since Dean was enjoying playing the role of a hunter, Sam wasn’t going to be the one to spoil the fun. Revealing that they were angels seemed like it might be met with laughter. Then concern after they realized that he wasn't joking, followed by fear. So Sam was content to play the charade of human, if he could avoid fear gracing the amber eyes of Gabriel. Perhaps one day, the elder Novak would recall his rescue from Hell. Sam would be plenty happy to inform the human of his heritage then, once Gabriel understood that Sam wouldn't hurt him or his brother.

 

                Besides, Sam was enjoying absorbing the human culture. The longer they stayed, the more he could learn.

 

                He pushed such thoughts aside as Gabriel formed a plan for them to convene once more, dutifully nodding in agreement. The brunette watched the Novaks retreat into their Impala, watching the mass of machinery rev up- then disappear atop a hill of asphalt.

 

“Sammy?” his brother asked, eventually ending his thoughtful daze with a flick to the side of the face.

 

                Sam swatted the hand away, glaring at the other angel.

 

“Yeah, I’m listening. Head back to the motel, right?” Sam asked. The brunette hadn't been listening at all, but he guessed that was the topic of conversation.

 

“You sound eager to see them again,” Dean warily remarked.

 

                Sam gave a noncommittal shrug. He straightened a bit upon seeing the disapproving gaze his brother directed at him.

 

“Heaven forbid you’re actually growing fond of them,” Dean quietly hissed.

 

                Sam glared in return.

 

“So what if I am?” he challenged, feeling the addicting little thrill that ran alongside rebellion, however minor it might be.

 

“Sam, I swear to Father, I’ll send you home if I start to think that your judgement is getting screwy.”

 

“You wouldn’t,” Sam confidently replied.

 

“Huh- really? Why not?” Dean snapped.

 

“Because you can’t keep an eye on me if I’m there.”

 

                Dean silently seethed, too prideful to admit aloud that his brother had hit the target dead on. The elder angel’s threat was composed of empty words. The blonde had always kept an eye on his brother, unsure of why he’d chosen Sam out of a legion of angels as the one to be watch over. Maybe it was because Sam had always been somewhat of an outcast. Dean had been the one to aid him in concealing Sam’s decidedly liberal angelic politics- the one who had always taken the falls for his brother’s agitations.

 

                If Sam wasn’t by his side, it was likely his brother was unknowingly endangering himself with the subtle revolt in his words. Always in danger of being noticed, then picked apart in what Dean had dubbed Bible School Camp. It was significantly more sinister than the name implied.

 

                Dean had been there more than a few times. Sam had done considerably less time; the precise reason Dean had served at all. It had only served to fan Sam’s spark into a flame. The doubts the brunette held were only hammered in deeper.

 

                Dean thought he caught a faint smile crossing his brother’s face at the lack of a reply. The blonde made a note to be particularly grating in whatever way he could manage the rest of the day.

 

“You’re right. I won’t send you home. But you can bet on never seeing the Novaks again. Whatever seal is farthest away from them is where you’ll be,” Dean threatened.

 

                Sam’s face fell.

 

“Sam, you know our orders,” Dean replied, in a tone laced with equal parts sympathy and authority.

 

“It’s always about being a good soldier, isn’t it? Following the orders without thinking for ourselves?” Sam snapped in reply.

 

"Lucifer got free will. Look where it got him, Sam!" 

 

                Dean was ready to defend himself from whatever onslaught came, but Sam went strangely silent. His shoulders set themselves into brooding mode as Sam turned away. Dean wanted to console his brother, but it was his job to keep the brunette alive, even if it meant earning his wrath.

 

“Let’s just go,” Sam muttered.

 

                Dean was more than happy to save the oncoming storm of an argument for another time. The trip to the motel didn’t prove difficult. Sam was in no mood to talk, so Dean simply focused on reporting back in to Heaven to receive further orders.

 

                This was where things got tricky. It was a field test, designed specifically for Gabriel. Dean was rather indifferent towards the man, but even he felt a pang of remorse in his otherwise stony demeanor.

 

                The angels somehow had to work alongside the Novaks without tipping their hand while simultaneously finding a way to suggest that the town could simply be destroyed to gauge Gabriel's reaction.

 

                Dean said as much to Sam.

 

“You wouldn’t actually let Uriel destroy this place, right?” Sam asked after a pause.

 

                Dean shrugged.

 

“If it would stop the seal from breaking, then yes.”

 

“There’s, what, a thousand people living here? I know Uriel would be trigger happy to blow this place out of the water, but you?” Sam questioned, alarmed.

 

“These people will die anyways if Lucifer isn’t stopped. Alongside the rest of the freaking world, Sam. You can't make an omelet without breaking a couple of eggs," Dean reasoned. He wasn't sure if he believed it himself, but the argument was too logical to ignore.

 

                Sam’s eyes flashed as he stormed off. As an afterthought, he lingered at the door and confidently responded,

 

“Whatever. Gabriel won’t agree.”

 

“You hardly know him! If he says yes, then what are you going to do? I’m older than you, Sam. I know human nature. All I’m saying is- you shouldn’t count on him. Humans are experts at the art of disappointing,” Dean countered.

 

“He won’t,” Sam doggedly insisted, placing emphasis on each word.

 

                Then, he was gone. Dean didn’t have the time or the energy to pursue him. Sam could have his tantrum. Dean would deal with him later. The elder angel heard the disturbance in the air behind him, biting back a groan as he turned around. 

 

“You know, it’s common courtesy on Earth to use this thing called a door,” Dean drily stated.

 

                Uriel disdainfully glanced between the door, then the other angel.

 

“We have no use for such apparatuses,” he monotonously replied.

 

                Dean cut him off before he could continue.

 

“Yeah, I know. Humans are mudmonkeys, destructive hairless apes, a waste of space. I’ve heard it before. I don’t necessarily disagree, but I don’t have time to listen to anyone bitching about it. At least they have a sense of privacy. It's something angels could learn something from.”

 

                Uriel was scowling, but he usually was, so Dean didn’t think anything of it.

 

“How would you like to proceed?”

 

                Dean hummed in consideration, then shrugged.

 

“I have a plan. Don’t “purify” the town unless you get my word. Keeping yourself on standby. I’ll call you in if I need you.”

               

                Dean checked the clock on the nightstand, pleased to see he still had several minutes.

 

“I have an appointment to go to. See you soon,” Dean remarked, finding difficulty in not adding an expletive to that sentence.

 

                Uriel stopped him with a rather chilling statement. 

 

“I’m unsure of whether it was you or our dimwitted brother, Samuel, who suggested to befriend the Novaks in hopes that coaxing them into our will is more effective than instead of directly confronting them, but I advise you tread carefully. Heaven and the rest of your garrison will be evaluating you carefully. You know what failure will result in.”

 

                Dean snorted, shoving the severity of the thinly veiled threat aside.

 

“I wouldn’t appreciate being bossed around by freaking angels if I were Gabriel. Don’t doubt me. I haven’t disappointed Heaven before.”

 

“I wasn’t necessarily referring to your sole performance. Samuel treads on thin ice. We're aware of your protection over him. If he commits a crime, you will both receive punishment,” Uriel warned in a low voice.

 

                The other angel rolled his eyes, quelling the wave of panic that arose. Then, the blonde exited the room. Opting to walk seemed smarter, seeing as zapping himself to an area where the Novaks could potentially see him materialize seemed unwise. And it gave him something else to focus on.

 

                Damn. It felt like all of Heaven was siding against them nowadays. He missed the simpler days with their garrison under Anael's guide. Then, his only responsibility had been to follow the orders given to him- not to give them for himself. Certainly Anael hadn’t had the same responsibilities, the same stress of having to prevent the breaking of the Seals. She hadn’t had Sam under her wings, either.

 

“Douche,” Dean hissed to Uriel under his breath as he walked down the hallway.

 

                It comforted him very little.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Sam had stormed in earlier, silently fuming. When the brunette hadn't made any effort to explain the reason for his anger, Gabriel wrote it off to some kind of brotherly argument. Gabriel could certainly relate. They’d simply commenced in unraveling the hex bag instead of having a chick flick bonding moment, however.

 

                So he and Sam stood behind Castiel as he untied the hex bag.

 

                The brunette mumbled something under his breath upon removing one of the items from the bag. He rolled it over in his fingers, silently mouthing something to himself. Then, Castiel moved to the window, examining what appeared to be a scorched bone in better lighting.

 

“Know what it is?” Gabriel questioned, joining his brother by the window.

 

                Castiel exhaled sharply, then handed the bone to Gabriel.

 

“This is the metacarpal bone of a newborn child. It can be found before the proximal phalanges, after the carpal bones,” Castiel recited, recalling knowledge from his medical textbooks.

 

                Gabriel cringed, jumping back and dropping the bone to the floor with a yelp of alarm.

 

“Thanks for the warning, Cas! Ugh... that’s freaking gross,” Gabriel scowled, shuddering. More quietly, he growled, “Witches are so damn skeevy.”

 

                Castiel retrieved the bone from the carpet. The brunette looked a bit more carefully at the bone.

 

“You have little need to worry. This is at least a century of age.”

 

“How the hell does that make it any better!?” Gabriel retorted, eyeing the bone with distaste.

 

                Castiel shrugged. He was much less affected by such things- human anatomy no longer bothered him. It was hardly the first time he’d seen bones before, anyways.

 

                Gabriel shivered once more, then spun back to Sam. The brunette stared intently at the other two occupants of the hex bag- a dried plant and a coin.

 

“You know what those are?” Gabriel asked, jerking his head towards the items, but keeping his distance.

 

                The elder Novak wasn’t going near any of the sleazy stuff in fear of touching something else disgusting.

 

“I recognize the symbols,” Sam said, fingering the coin. “They’re Celtic. From what I can tell, the coin is authentic. Likely over six centuries of age.”

 

“How would anyone be able to obtain a coin of such a value?” Castiel questioned.

 

“A bitch with a serious grudge and a hell of a lot of power,” Gabriel solemnly deduced. “Seriously, this is bigger than our usual witch gig. Whoever’s doing this has some serious witchcraft mojo in their hands.”

 

                  Sam nodded, although he’d already known that. There was a knock at the door then, informing them that Dean had arrived. Sam sunk deeper into his chair and picked up the dried herb. He was turning it around when Castiel opened the door for his brother.

 

“Sorry. I had to make a call. What’d I miss?” Dean asked, shedding his outer coat.

 

“We were inspecting the contents of the hex bag. I identified one of the objects to be the metacarpal bone of an infant while Sam distinguished the coin to be of ancient Celtic descent,” Castiel explained.

 

                Dean raised his brows. Even considering what they’d been expecting, it was still powerful witchcraft.

 

“Anything else?”

 

                Sam motioned to the plant on the table. His brows flew up in surprise. The plant seemed vaguely familiar. It was something that gone extinct, thanks to the damaging activities of humans. One of many things that Dean had watched the humans strangle the life from.  

 

“Uh, golden something. Goldenfinger? It’s some sort of extinct herb,” Dean informed them , trying to dig the name from the bowels of his mind.

 

                Castiel made a confused face, then slid across from his laptop. After a flurry of typing and comparisons between the screen and the plant, the brunette announced,

 

“Goldthread. It’s supposedly been extinct for two hundred years.”

 

“I friggin’ hate witches,” Gabriel muttered, reiterating himself.

 

                Dean seconded the notion.

 

“There is no motive for anyone to murder Luke Wallace. From what I have gathered, he seems to be a very typical suburban man.”

 

“So vanilla, he made vanilla seem spicy,” Dean added.

 

                The elder angel couldn’t be sure, but he thought a smile ghosted across the younger Novak’s face. His attention was drawn to Gabriel running a hand through his hair, scoffing.

 

“Sounds like a dead end.”

 

“It would appear that way.”

 

                Gabriel shook his head.

 

“Alright, now what?”

 

“We’ll have to wait for new developments, I guess,” Sam jumped in.

 

“And if there aren’t any?” Gabriel replied.

 

“I get the feeling there will be. I doubt this witch is just going to go underground after a single death,” the younger angel responded.

 

                Actually, Sam was certain there would be another murder. But the angels were just as clueless to the killer as the Novaks. If there wasn’t another murder, it would be good news for all parties involved. The seal couldn’t be broken. Gabriel wouldn’t have to choose whether to exterminate the entire town to wipe out the perpetrator. Sam got a feeling they weren’t going to get lucky on this one, however. That would be too easy.

 

                Gabriel groaned in annoyance, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

 

“I hate waiting. It’s boring,” he muttered.

 

“What do you suggest we do?” Castiel drily asked.

 

                Gabriel considered that a moment, then brightened.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not moping around here until someone else gets ganked. Let’s go out and get dinner.”

 

                Sam felt that mentioning that he and Dean were not required to eat might raise red flags, so he said nothing for a moment. Upon realizing that he might be able to better acquaint himself with the elder Novak, the brunette grinned.

 

“Definitely. I could go for something to eat.”

 

                If nothing else, Sam might be able to influence Gabriel to save the town if it came to it. Castiel glanced to Dean, who gave a nod of approval.

 

“Great. Let’s go,” Gabriel smiled, grabbing his jacket.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically enough, I feel as if I have also swallowed razor blades and that my brain is liquefying in my skull. Luke Wallace and I are twins, man. At least I'm not dead. Either way, this may not be my best work. But here you go! You can expect a mostly Sam central chapter coming up! Thanks for your words of encouragement and reads!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel shares his milkshake and Sam gives a history lesson.

**_Chapter 9_ **

 

 

                Gabriel picked the eatery himself, seeing as he was paying for the gas money. Although it was actually some phantom guy named Nathan Giovanni that only existed on the back of his credit card, the point remained. It wasn’t long before Gabriel dubbed one restaurant worthy and pulled into the crowded lot of a diner. A hand-painted sign named the restaurant Avenue Eatery. It looked rather cozy, all vinyl seating with a jukebox tucked into the corner and patrons cheerily chatting.

 

                Their party was placed at a table tucked into the back. A young waiter handed them worn menus. Dean leafed through his in interest, eventually coming across a desert menu that lit a grin across his face. Sam was too absorbed in looking through his own to notice. Gabriel hummed his approval, which Castiel might’ve found worrisome had he not been absorbed in practically salivating as he read through the menu's description of their burgers.

 

                By the time the waiter returned for their orders, the angels had a renewed appreciation for human culture and the humans were starving.

 

“I’ll have a large chocolate milkshake with a large order of fries and a pub burger,” Gabriel requested. Castiel was still too focused to notice the waiter’s presence, so Gabriel continued for him. “And he’ll have the diner burger with medium fries and a water.”

 

                Castiel was still oblivious to the world, so Gabriel pried away his menu and handed them to the waiter, despite the glare tossed his way.

 

“I’ll take the pie platter and a cheeseburger,” Dean ordered.

 

                Sam was unaware of the expectant gaze thrown his way by the waiter, who grew increasingly uncomfortable waiting there. The younger angel remained focused on the menu until Dean prodded his side.

 

“It’s your turn to order,” the elder angel impatiently informed him, rolling his eyes.

 

“Oh, uh, I’ll have a Greek Salad, please.”

 

                Gabriel scoffed from across the table.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.”

 

“Perhaps he has a concept of the phrase balanced diet,” Castiel retorted.

 

                Sam felt the answer “No, I just want to leave my vessel in decent shape by the time I’m through with it,” fell under the Not Applicable column. Instead, the angel gave a gauche shrug.

 

“Lots of diner food isn’t exactly healthy.”

 

                Gabriel still gave him a stare of lingering suspicion.

 

“Neither is living off rabbit food, unless you're a rabbit.”

 

                Sam snorted.

 

“Is munching on candy all day so much healthier?”

 

                Gabriel pointedly removed a sucker from his pocket, unwrapped it, and tucked it into the side of his mouth before answering.

 

“I’d rather die happy than die as I starve from malnutrition.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Sam replied.

 

                Castiel could sense the direction in which the conversation was headed. Since Gabriel had unofficially banned them from talking about work for the remainder of the night, it proved difficult to find a good topic of conversation. Or any topic of conversation, really. Not for the first time, Castiel was unhappily reminded of just how much the lives of hunters revolved solely around hunting.

 

                There was no time for domesticity for full-time hunters. Especially one who had earned the wrath of a particularly nasty demon, such as himself. There were few dependable things in the constant state of flux that was his life. Another thing Castiel could add onto his list of complaints.

 

                Castiel’s long silence had not gone unnoticed. Dean glanced at the brunette, noting he seemed to have gone strangely stony.

 

“Cas? You alright?” he questioned, ignoring the playful bickering which had begun to spawn between their brothers about the merits of junk food.

 

                The younger Novak snapped back to attention.

 

“Yes,” he replied, more out of instinct than anything else.

 

“How are you?” Dean slowly asked with a note of suspicion in his voice. Something was different about the brunette since their last meeting.

 

                Castiel couldn’t quite recall the last time he’d been asked that. Gabriel had staunchly refused to talk about feelings for as long as Castiel’s memory went back. He was unused to being questioned about his well-being, aside from his physical health. The brunette couldn’t disguise the way in which he was slightly taken aback. 

 

“I am alright," Castiel replied after he recovered. 

 

                Dean could tell that the brunette was completely not alright, although it might’ve just been the demon blood in his veins that alluded to that conclusion. And the niggling whisper in the back of the angel’s mind that something had changed in Castiel suddenly came to light. There was more unclean blood than there had been since the last time they’d encountered. The malice was starting to overwhelm the human. If it continued much longer, Dean had no doubt that Castiel would become more parts demon than human.

 

                The angel flinched at the unwelcome realization. Dean was halfway to shaking some fragment of sense into Castiel before reminding himself of Castiel’s role. And the warnings thrown his way by Zachariah and Uriel. Castiel would stop the Apocalypse. It was necessary. The brunette was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Lucifer would be stopped because of him, so the world would be saved. The stakes were greater than a single human life. Castiel would become a martyr.

 

                Dean still found he had difficulty choking down his burger when their food arrived. He was certain the food was delicious, but the blonde had trouble tasting it.

 

                Goddamn it. He really needed to get away from these humans. For his own and Sam’s safety. He’d nearly made an excuse to leave early before seeing the enthralled manner in which his brother laughed. Dean hadn’t caught what Gabriel had said to elicit it, but both seemed to be cheery. He looked back to Castiel for a moment, then decided that just for now, they could stay.

 

“So, enlighten me. What does the legendary younger Novak like to do for fun?” Dean asked after a moment of deliberation.

 

                The elder angel speared a piece of cherry pie, thoughtfully chewing it as he waited for Castiel to answer. He was met with a confused look.

 

“Outside the world of the supernatural,” Dean clarified.

 

                Castiel still seemed confused, but his face took on a more thoughtful tone.

 

“It hasn’t occurred to me to pursue anything other than hunting for the past years,” he solemnly replied.

 

                Dean frowned. Hell, even angels had hobbies. How could Castiel live while doing nothing but hunting? The blonde hadn’t considered that hunting was such a consuming job.

 

“So what did you do before you came back?” he lightly asked after a beat.

 

“I was attending college. I studied human anatomy, although I majored in biology.”

 

                Dean had already known this, but he faked as if he were learning that for the first time. It had been apparent when he had been in Castiel’s unconscious mind that the brunette longed to return to his studies- or perhaps to his apartment. Possibly to simply have sort of foundation in his life at all.

 

“Did you finish your degree?” Dean questioned through mouthfuls of burger.

 

“No. I was drawn away by hunting before I could complete my final year.”

 

“You should finish, then. You can take online classes, right? It’ll give you something else to focus on,” Dean suggested, before he could think better of it.

 

                Castiel blinked. It was something he hadn’t properly considered. Hunting was hardly something he wanted to do when he was old and greyed. It would be just as well if he had something to fall back on. When the brunette at last broke free from his contemplation, he found one of his rare smiles gracing his face.

 

“Thank you, Dean. I concur with your recommendation.”

 

                Dean found it impossible not to return the smile.

 

                Gabriel had found that Sam took the word eccentric to a whole new level. Gabriel was freaking hilarious if he said so himself, but most of his jokes seemed to soar above Sam’s head. The brunette understood literally none of Gabriel’s references. It was like Sam had been living under a rock, in Gabriel’s eyes. The elder Novak found it strangely endearing, although it was annoying when Gabriel's hilarious jokes were missed.

 

                But for God’s sake, he was the most oblivious person Gabriel had met. Or he was an expert at playing hard to get. The brunette met all of Gabriel’s flirting with blank and perplexed looks. Eventually, Gabriel’s reservoir of pickup lines had begun to run dry. The amber eyed man swore that if Sam were any less oblivious, surely he would’ve fallen victim to his charm. 

 

                Gabriel internally groaned at his failures. The human leaned forwards to take a swig from his milkshake to stall for time while Sam curiously watched him.

 

“What’s that?” the angel asked.

 

“... I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking,” Gabriel replied, eyes narrowed as he studied the taller male.

 

                Sam stared at him with wide eyes the color of absinthe. Gabriel suddenly felt uncertain of whether the angel was sincerely clueless or effectively playing him. Something in Sam’s expression told him it was the former. Even so, the elder Novak had no idea how to explain something as simple as a milkshake other than cold, refreshing, and Godly. 

 

“Here, just try it."

 

                He slid the frozen concoction across the table to Sam, who eyed it uncertainly. Under Gabriel’s expectant stare, he eventually leaned forward and tentatively slurped some of the frosty liquid, mimicking what Gabriel had done. The moment the taste blossomed across his mouth his eyes widened in genuine surprise and jubilation.

 

“I guess I can see the benefits of junk food,” Sam admitted, taking another sip.

 

“I swear, were you isolated as a child or something? Did you have freakish parents who sheltered you from all of the outside world?” the elder Novak asked, only partially joking.

 

“Not really. Father was absent while I was young. I never met him, although some of my older siblings have,” Sam replied with a shrug.

 

                Gabriel was briefly speechless, then opened another straw and stuck it into the milkshake. Perhaps they had more in common that he’d thought.

 

“To absent fathers, then” the elder Novak said in a bitter toast.

 

                Sam found that to be something he could drink to.

 

“So, where’d you grow up?” Gabriel questioned.

 

                “Literally Heaven” seemed to fall under the unacceptable category. So Sam replied with the first thing that came to mind, which was a face-saving evasion.

 

“Everywhere,” he nonchalantly answered.

 

“I imagine your experience was about as pleasant as mine. How did it go?” Gabriel wryly asked.

 

“It wasn't the best. I wasn’t very popular,” the brunette confessed.

 

                Gabriel’s brows shot up in disbelief.

 

“Bullshit. You’re athletic and freakishly tall- not to mention attractive. Hell, I marked you up to being the star of the Varsity basketball team. I was short, had a crappy throwing arm, and was occasionally grating.”

 

                Castiel chose that moment to eavesdrop on the conversation, shooting Gabriel a pointed look.

 

“Occasionally is an inadequate word.”

 

                Then Castiel turned back to whatever he and Dean were talking about before Gabriel could get in a return insult, leaving the older human to roll his eyes. The amber eyed man continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

 

“But everyone still liked me- something Cassie’s just jealous of. Although, granted, I was charming and good looking. So how the hell were you an outcast?”

 

                Sam laughed a moment, then shrugged. Whatever world Gabriel had grown up in was vastly different than his own. The standards Gabriel had listed didn’t apply in the least to Sam’s childhood. His childhood had rotated around loyalty, faith, and devoutness to an unseen Father, not charm and persona. Sam hadn’t been punished with detention for disobedience. The brunette would’ve chosen detention over any one of Heaven’s punishments.

 

“I hit my growth spurt late,” he lied. “My metabolism didn’t really kick in until senior year.”

 

“Neither did mine. I compensated by pulling off pranks that ended up with me ending up expelled. Several times. On the bright side, I doubt that I’ve been forgotten,” Gabriel fondly recalled.

 

                Sam chuckled.

 

“I could probably pick up a few things from you.”

 

“Heaven forbid,” Dean murmured, having eavesdropped on the more recent part of the conversation during a lull in his own conversation.

 

                Gabriel smirked to himself, swirling the remainder of the shared milkshake in the cold glass.

 

“You lost your chance at recon. You might’ve overheard something important if you’d kept quiet,” Gabriel chided him.

 

                Dean's frown deepened the longer he considered that. Eventually, the blonde waved a threatening fork in their direction.

 

“If I wake up with pink hair or something equally horrible, I swear to God, I will smite you where you stand.”

 

                Sam, having the full scope of information, felt it wasn’t necessarily an idle threat. Gabriel seemed to take it as a challenge, based on the glint that lit his eyes. Castiel was more than content to let Gabriel focus his mischievous intentions onto someone other than him for a change, so he simply leaned back into his seat in an effort to remain unnoticed.

 

                Castiel could tell the challenge was far from escaping Gabriel’s mind, but his brother put on a mask of forgetting about it as their bill was brought to their table. The elder Novak signed off on the slip of paper and stretched as the meal begun to settle in his stomach.

 

                Sam observed him as he stood. The amber eyed man appeared quite pleased with himself, uncharacteristically at ease. He most definitely appeared more relaxed than Sam had seen him before. If Sam had any chance to get him alone with his guard down, this would be it. 

 

“I think I’m going to walk back,” Sam announced.

 

                He looked to Gabriel and smiled.

 

“Do you want to join me?”

 

                Dean caught on quickly to the ploy. Sam could already see him tensing in his seat. But Gabriel, perhaps sensing this, beat Dean to the draw. He pulled the Impala’s keys from his jacket pocket and tossed them to Castiel. The younger Novak deftly caught them, brows furrowed.

 

“If you crash my Baby again, I swear that it’ll be the last thing you do,” Gabriel threatened as he stood.

 

                Sam could see his brother weighing his options. It would be too conspicuous to stop them- certainly much too conspicuous if Dean smited Sam right there. So Dean settled for giving the younger angel a sugary sweet smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, trying to convey a nonverbal warning to his brother. And also possibly informing Sam that Dean would get his vengeance.  

 

“Lastly, if there’s any funny business in my car, there’s going to be Hell to pay,” Gabriel added over his shoulder as he left the diner, trailed by Sam.

 

                The night was quiet. Other than the occasional car passing or far off wail of a police siren, it was peaceful. Thick, warm air clung to them, an earthy smell informing them of an oncoming storm. Gabriel shoved his hands into his pockets. While he was more relaxed than usual, he still kept an ear tuned for any sound that didn’t belong.

 

                They eventually passed by a chapel, where Sam faltered in his steps for a moment. It reminded him of home. For a flash, he felt a pang of homesickness. Gabriel stopped in front of the white building, prompting Sam to slow entirely. 

 

“You buy into that God stuff, don’t you?” Gabriel carefully asked.

 

                There was no trace of mocking in his voice, but Sam still felt a bit defensive.

 

“I was preprogrammed to do so by my family. I still have doubts,” Sam honestly replied, after convincing himself no angels were listening in.

 

                Gabriel rocked back and forth on his heels while he considered that. There had been no Sunday churches for them, not with their father usually passed out drunk in the mornings. Pastor Jim had once spoken to him about God, but Gabriel had considered himself too old to entertain such fantasies. There was no God that looked over them, protected them. And if there was, he had a wicked sense of humor. The younger Novak hadn’t ever said anything to Castiel, of course. His brother needed some form of stability with their dad disappearing for long periods of time, something to fall back on. And if he found that in a God that Gabriel considered to be a douche, then Gabriel could deal with it.

 

“I never did. I can see the appeal, though,” Gabriel admitted.

 

                They stood in front of the grand oak doors leading into the chapel, both absorbed in their own thoughts. A stained glass Jesus looked down at them from a window above the entrance. It was a stunning piece of artwork. Gabriel could find it in himself to appreciate it, even if he didn’t appreciate the message behind it. For a moment, the silence stretched on. The human almost thought Sam looked longing for a moment.

 

“Want to sneak in?” Gabriel asked, feeling a spark of mischief coursing through him.

 

                Sam turned to him, head tilted in consideration. A thrill ran through him at the thought. It seemed exciting, some small form of rebellion. Even if it was only human laws they were breaking. It wasn’t as if he would ever get to do such a thing again. So, why the hell not?

 

“Why not?” Sam replied.

 

                Gabriel laughed a moment as he dug around his pockets for his lockpicks.

 

“I must be a bad influence. Encouraging you to sneak into holy grounds in the middle of the night and all. Do you think they send you back to Hell for sneaking into church? Usually, I think I tried to sneak out.”

 

                Sam grinned in response.

 

                The brunette watched in curiosity as Gabriel seemingly randomly jiggled around the lockpicks in the keyholes. Sam simply could've blown the door off its hinges entirely, but this was somehow more fascinating. The elder Novak cheered in celebration as the locks clicked open several minutes later. He dramatically threw the doors open, extending his hands outwards before twisting around to enter the chapel. The human felt as if he were a teenager once more, sneaking out with dates and impressing them by breaking into abandoned buildings. That had been one of his preferred date nights in high school.

 

                Although Gabriel was unsure if Sam was even aware that this would usually be considered a date.

 

                Sam seemed enthralled by the arched stained glass windows decorating the expansive walls of the chapel. Each one depicted a prominent scene from the Bible in stunning detail and vivid colors. Sam categorized each scene instantly, although his companion had more difficulty.

 

“I have no idea who these angels are. Except that one. Isn’t that guy Lucifer?” Gabriel uncertainty questioned, jabbing a finger towards a guy wrapped in a toga as he seemingly fell from Heaven.

 

                Sam nodded.

 

"You have a strange fascination with Lucifer," the angel remarked.

 

                Gabriel raised his brows.

 

"Why do you say that?"

 

"You speak of him frequently. While we went after the banshee, you alluded to me being Lucifer. I can assure you I'm not."

 

                Gabriel just laughed, but didn't explain any further.

 

"Who are the rest of these guys?"

 

“That’s Michael. He’s the eldest of the angels, the chief archangel of Heaven. There,” Sam cheerily explained, signaling to Michael’s companion, “is Raphael. He’s another powerful force of Heaven.”

 

“They look like chicks,” Gabriel remarked, disdainfully eyeing their long hair and clothing that bordered on identifying as dresses.

 

“Angels are genderless. They take on the gender of their vessel, although they truly conform to none.”

 

                The human looked between the scenes, then back to his partner.

 

"Do you know what's happening in these?"

 

                Sam cheerily nodded. So, Gabriel listened as Sam enthusiastically explained each of the scenes. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was actually rather interesting the manner in which Sam spoke of each. The details were vivid, almost as if the angel were recalling them from memory. Gabriel, of course, was unaware that most were actually from Sam’s memory. The select few that had occurred before his birth had been relayed to him by other angels until he'd memorized each detail like he had been there himself. Once the brunette paused, Gabriel jumped in.

 

“That one looks sort of like you,” the Novak commented, focused on an angel with flowing brown hair.

 

                Sam studied it. It, indeed, did look quite similar to him. He almost entertained the idea that it might’ve been him in a different vessel before recalling that angels of moderate power could often use vessels from the same bloodline. Perhaps an angel had used a vessel from this bloodline sometime in the past. That was what he reasoned, anyways. Gabriel’s mind took another turn.

 

“I guess Heaven’s missing one of their angels. But if you’re here, then who’s running things up there?” the amber eyed man grinned.

 

                The angel squinted at him, quelling the panic that threatened to rise in his chest. How had he given it away? He thought he’d been careful. Was the brunette really that readable? Gabriel had said something similar before, but perhaps he'd really caught on this time? In the silence that begun to fill the abandoned chapel, Sam blurted out the proper response to Gabriel’s flirtations.

 

“Michael is the chief of the angels.”

 

                Gabriel’s brows shot up. He ran a hand through his hair, equally parts annoyed and amused.

 

“You talk about them like you know them,” the elder Novak remarked.

 

“I do. Well, I mean, I feel like I do,” Sam replied, hastening to correct himself.

 

“You take pickup lines more literally than anyone I’ve ever met, you know,” Gabriel snorted, although he was smirking.

 

                Sam blinked.

 

“Oh,” was all he could manage.

 

                He was well aware of the wave of heat surging to his face. Dean had explained the concept to him long before, but Sam had been unable to classify the flirtations as such. Gabriel studied him a moment, then burst out laughing.

 

“You’re a strange species, Chewbacca.”

 

                Sam had no reply to that as Gabriel wandered up to the altar.

 

“Does your biblical knowledge have any formula on how to stop good ol’ Luci from paying us a visit?”

 

“Did you just... give Lucifer a nickname?” Sam slowly questioned.

 

                Gabriel shrugged.

 

“Why not? Everyone calls me Gabe. You’re Sam, not Samuel. Castiel’s Cas.”

 

                Sam was unsure of whether to be offended or entertained. When Gabriel gave him an expectant stare, the brunette returned to the question.

 

“No. I doubt that any angel would know.”

 

“It was worth a try. Luci sounds kind of like a great big bag of dicks, if you ask me. I’d rather not have him tramping around my home.”

 

                Sam couldn't hold back his laughter this time. Gabriel grinned in response. The grin quickly faded away when he checked his watch.

 

“I need to get you back before your curfew or your overprotective brother’s going to skin me. Let’s head out.”

 

“Wouldn’t you skin Dean if he took out Cas and brought him back late?” Sam bemusedly questioned.

 

                Gabriel opened his mouth to deny him, then reluctantly conceded.

 

“Fair point.”

 

                Sam's face took on a more serious tone, then. The human frowned upon seeing him. After a pause, the angel spoke.

 

“I admire how you look after Castiel. It can’t be easy. I know it wasn't easy for Dean to look after me. You practically raised him, right?”

 

                Gabriel shrugged.

 

“Me and Bobby, yeah. I’ve always looked after him, though. It’s not really a responsibility, just something I do,” he nonchalantly replied.

 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Sam remarked. “For anything.”

 

                Sam had said that before, not that Gabriel remembered. There had been a lot of things said in Hell. Unlike most had assumed, Sam’s rescue had lasted well over a few simple hours. They had dragged themselves back through the metaphorical crust of the Earth, fighting tooth and nail and sustaining bad damage by the time Sam had managed to revive the human back on Earth.

 

                A lot more had occurred than even Dean knew about.

 

                And Gabriel remembered none of it. And still, Sam could see that Gabriel was in denial.

 

“Accept the compliment,” Sam ordered.

 

                Gabriel stared at him a moment, considering eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed. For that single moment, Sam let himself believe that Gabriel had remembered. But he hadn’t, because the Righteous Man blinked, then shook his head as if to clear it. Sam silently sighed.

 

                Gabriel broke his gaze away from Sam, eyes returning to the stained glass windows. The meager moonlight provided minimal colored lighting filtered through the grand stained windows. It had an enchanting effect as hues danced across the room. It was serene. In Gabriel’s experience, serenity was usually followed by a jump scare from some paranormal trying to bash his head in.

 

                He felt that it wasn’t going to happen, though.

 

                Gabriel watched the outline of the side of Sam’s face as the colors danced upon it. The elder Novak would’ve certainly lunged forward and kissed him. He would've. 

 

                But he didn’t, because the chapel melted away around him. The scenery changed from dusty church pews and a white altar to the utter opposite.

 

                The scent faded from dust into the scent of scorching flesh, the soft lighting turning into harsh crimson colors flashing like strobe lights in his eyes. Cool night air distorted into air that burned his lungs with each breath, made sweat drip down his brow. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t breathe. The silence turned into endless screams of agony, some caused by pain inflicted by him. He didn’t know if he was screaming. He couldn’t tell. He probably was.

 

                He was back in Hell.

 

                For a moment, dread overwhelmed him. Terror was soon to follow, then agony. Gabriel was certain he would’ve collapsed with horror. He hardly restrained himself from doing so. It was only the familiar outline of a face through the blinding lights that stabilized him.

 

“We need to go,” the voice spoke.

 

                Gabriel could hear it through the screams, through the blood in his ears, the note of urgency. He could just make out the tall figure of a man, the shadow of two massive wings spread behind him.

 

“Gabriel? Gabriel?!”

 

                His surroundings were quaking now. The shadowy figure’s mouth was moving, but it wasn’t him speaking. Somewhere far away, distantly, the voice was speaking.

 

                Gabriel snapped out of his stupor to find himself back in the chapel, Sam shaking his shoulders in close proximity. Sweat had begun to dry on his skin, chilling him further. An involuntary shiver ran through him.

 

“You zoned out. Are you-?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” Gabriel assured him, keeping his voice steady.

 

                Sam gave him a long look that said he didn’t believe a word of it, but didn’t have time to question him further. The angel’s ancient phone rung. Gabriel unclenched muscles he didn’t know were tensed when the brunette stopped scrutinizing him.

 

                He studied Sam in the light. When he eventually came to a conclusion, he was unsure of what to do with the information.

 

                The outline of the face from his flashback to Hell and Sam’s own were the same.

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the culmination of an entire day of work! I was pretty lazy when it came to editing my work, so if there's any errors (or you have criticism or suggestions), please comment them below! And now we move into a Destiel-centric chapter!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is a spider-monkey and Dean chokes on powdered sugar donuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to listen to Stairway to Heaven throughout this chapter.

**_Chapter 9_ **

 

 

               

                Castiel watched as Gabriel and Sam left the diner, his brother’s legs pumping quickly to match the pace of his companion. Blood had flushed to his face at his brother’s parting comment, tinging his face a lovely shade of burgundy. The blue eyed man hastened to conceal his embarrassment by directing his gaze through the diner’s window.

 

               Dean silently cursed Sam, already thinking of ways to make his brother’s life as miserable as possible. Then he tossed a curse at Gabriel for good luck. Maybe he should dye the elder Novak’s prized car some ghastly neon shade. Things were already derailing from his half-formed plan. Maybe if Sam would just cooperate with him for a minute, goddamn it, it would make things go much more smoothly. This going to require a good deal of improvisation on his part.

 

               Castiel awkwardly shuffled his feet after a minute, leaving Dean to realize he’d spent too much time fantasizing about vengeance on Sam.

 

“I guess we should head out.”

 

                The human somberly nodded in response. He scrambled to recover his composure with only a small degree of success. Castiel was unsure of what to talk about as they walked to the door (or what he was going to say on the drive back, for that matter). A rush of cool air greeted them upon exiting the diner. It did little to lighten the scarlet tone his face had taken on.

 

                With Gabriel’s absence, Dean was pleased to be able to slip into the passenger seat for the first time. It offered a much better view of than the backseat had. Not to mention how much more spacious it was. Sharing most things with the hulking mass of a vessel Sam had taken on had so far proven to make even the roomy areas feel cramped.

 

                Dean could only imagine how it would be if they were both at their natural sizes.

 

                Now that he could properly see them, the angel then examined the array of dials, buttons, and meters on the driver’s side of the car. While he could identify the purpose of a few, it seemed rather complicated. Cars, in the opinion of most angels, were ineffective, inefficient, and fragile. Dean understood why. Zapping themselves anywhere in an instant made them snobby when looking upon human modes of transportation.

 

                Dean didn’t necessarily disagree with the angels- flying in the metal bird machines of death they called airplanes seemed horrifying, in particular. Nonetheless, the vintage car was an admirable piece of machinery. The angel felt inclined to learn how it worked.

 

               The blonde might’ve, had learning how to drive instead of teleporting wherever he was needed to stop the breakage of the seals been in his curriculum. Unfortunately, there was no doubt his superiors would label the activity as “sightseeing” or “pointless.” Besides, Dean had the world to save.

 

               Hopefully no situations would arise where the angel was required to drive. Likely, that would end with the Impala wrapped around a tree and the condensed ball of rage that was Gabriel chasing after him with the intention of murder.  

 

                Castiel, painfully aware of the silence, reached over to twist the knob that controlled the radio. One of Gabriel’s cassettes blasted through the audio system. The younger Novak recoiled at the deafening guitar riff while Dean watched with a grin. Eventually, Castiel’s fingers grasped the proper dial and he turned the music to a more appropriate level.

 

                When it became clear that if anyone was going to start a conversation it would have to be Dean, the angel spoke up.

 

“Music here is a lot better than what I grew up on.”

 

“Classic rock is a distinctive genre.”

 

               Dean almost laughed, then fought against it when he realized Castiel was serious about dubbing the genre as a classic.

 

“I guess this is old-school, isn’t it?” Dean thoughtfully questioned.

 

                Obviously, their perceptions of time were vastly different. The angel wasn’t exactly certain what he considered classic music anymore. He supposed it qualified as classic music if it had been created somewhere around the time of when man had begun to form great civilizations. What Castiel considered classic was created around a mere forty years ago- the time which passed in the blink of an angel’s eye.

 

                The green eyed angel nearly dismissed the thought, then remembered that what should’ve been an insignificant period of time had produced more innovations than those of the past centuries. So perhaps Castiel had reason.

 

                He couldn’t exactly share that, though. The angel settled for something a little blither.

 

“Is this your favorite kind?” Dean asked.

 

“I enjoy it well enough. It isn’t my preferred genre, but Gabriel enforces a rule that only the driver has the right to choose the songs,” Castiel replied.

 

“So, what genre do you prefer?”

 

                Castiel pondered that an instant.

 

“I think I’m inclined to listen to classical music given the choice, although I’m found of rock and roll. What would your own be?”

 

                Dean honestly couldn’t say. His musical education had been stunted the last millennium. Being forbidden from roaming Earth hadn’t cultured his tastes. But the strumming of electric guitars and strong vocals were agreeable, so the angel quickly adlibbed an answer.

 

“Anything, really. My childhood music sounded about the screeching of a crashing airplane. Hell, it could make your ears bleed.”

 

                There wasn't a shred of untruth in the statement. It was actually the paraphrased description of Dean’s true voice given to him by an undistinguished human. Of course, there had been expletives liberally strewn through the human’s account as she had dabbed at the gore dripping from her ears. Dean doubted their angel gospel choir sounded much different to the average non-angel listener.  

 

                Castiel’s lips curled slightly at the edges. The sound of Bon Jovi faded away on the stereo, replaced by the slow melancholy strum of a guitar and the lonely whistle of a Mellotron flute. Dean listened to the instrumental until at last a sorrowful voice begun to drawl out lyrics.

 

“What’s this called?’ Dean asked as the first verse drew to a close.

 

“Stairway to Heaven,” Castiel promptly answered.

 

_"With a word she can get what she came for… Ooh, ooh, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven.”_

 

               Dean almost snorted at the irony of that. He offhandedly wondered what Uriel or Zachariah would have to say at that. Sam probably would’ve gone into a rambling speech at the inaccuracies of the path to Heaven described in such a way. Thinking about Sam, then Heaven, sent a chill through the angel for a moment. He silently prayed for his brother not to do anything stupid.

 

_“Ooh, it makes me wonder…”_

 

                Castiel caught the subtle movement of Dean’s face going from a smile to something unreadable in the corner of his eye. Once the angel caught the stare being thrown his way, he forced himself to relax. To Castiel, he was some flannel-clad hunter, not a celestial being worried over Heaven’s scrutiny of himself and his currently unsupervised brother. And because Dean was a celestial being with a bigger plan in mind and orders to follow, he was certainly not worried about some trivial demon-blood guzzling human. Even if he'd heard every prayer said human had sent Heaven's way.

 

“ _Then the piper will lead us to reason. And a new day will dawn for those who stand long… And the forests will echo with laughter.”_

 

                For a moment, the song served as reassurance that Dean wasn’t supposed to interfere at all. That he should ignore the whisper in the back of his mind telling him this was unethical.

 

_“Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run… There’s still time to change the road you’re on. And it makes me wonder…”_

 

Dean cursed his Father under his breath. The logical, sensible part of his brain programmed to follow orders repeated the same phrase that had replayed itself ever since Dean had first learned of the human’s impurities.

 

               But beneath that, tucked into the corner of his mind he seldom visited, he was screaming at himself to tell Castiel that. To tell the blue eyed man that he didn’t have to follow the path that everyone wanted him to follow. That Castiel could do what Dean had never had the courage to do- unlike his brother- to diverge and to think for himself. Dean was a foot soldier, a puppet controlled by unseen puppeteers.

 

               Sam had chosen to begin to take control of his own strings. Then again, so had Lucifer. Dean had tried to fulfill his brotherly and angelic duties to guide his brother to once again act as the mindless cavalry of Heaven. The elder angel had been met with little degree of success. Sam had gotten a taste of an addicting drug. Dean doubted that his brother could ever fully return to his prior state.

 

               The elder angel might have even encouraged his brother to think for himself, were it not for the fact that Heaven would mercilessly hunt him down. Or that free will was a slippery slope that led to corruption just as easily as enlightenment.

 

_“Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.”_

 

                Castiel had fallen into the silence as the song played onwards, beginning to reach the crescendo. It was a good song, yes, but Dean seemed to have retreated into some meditative state of mind where nothing else mattered. The younger Novak really wanted to escape the car.

 

_“And she’s buying a stairway to Heaven.”_

 

                Perhaps the woman in the song could buy herself a stairway to Heaven, but Dean was more than certain Castiel was buying himself a stairway straight to Hell. And from what Dean had seen from the siege to rescue Gabriel, Hell didn’t exactly resemble a photoshoot of Good Housekeeping.

 

                Of course, that would be if these were normal circumstances, the angel reminded himself. Castiel was serving the will of Heaven. He would be rewarded greatly in the afterlife. 

 

                And with those lyrics, they returned to the motel as the song ended.

 

                Dean was desperate to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere of the car. The lyrics that echoed in his mind, playing themselves anew. Like they'd been branded inside of him. He narrowly avoided rolling out of the car before it had even made a full stop. To top it off, the angel was painstakingly aware of Uriel’s grace lurking nearby. Dean was less aware that while submerged in his thoughts, he’d plunged himself and Castiel into a silence lasting the entire duration of the song.

 

                Stairway to Heaven was an eight-minute song. Castiel had counted, because it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do other than uncomfortably shifting in his seat.

 

                The duo returned to the Novak's motel room in a similar state of silence. The younger Novak set up shop in the corner of the room, hunched over a laptop. Dean rummaged through a broken mini-fridge in the corner of the room. The blue eyed angel emerged victoriously with a package of powdered sugar mini donuts. He fell heavily onto the edge of the bed with his prize in hand and unwrapped the package.

 

                Another downside of spending time around humans- they didn’t respond well to angels conjuring items or randomly zapping wherever they wanted. That meant dean had to actually supply his own foodstuff when in the presence of humans.

 

                Dean had felt inclined to zap in front of random people anyways. His curiosity of how freaking hilariously humans would react overweighed his principles of privacy.

 

                The blonde refocused to Castiel, temporarily leaving the amusing fantasy of what might occur were he to zap himself uninvited into some stranger’s kitchen. The hunter was still hunched over his computer, fingers a blur over the keys.

 

“What’re you looking at?” the angel questioned.  

 

                Or, so he attempted. His words came out with a cloud of powdered sugar, followed by choking on said powdered sugar in a very unangelic manner. It was followed by Dean coughing out puffs of powdered sugar, going into an unholy spree of curses between hacks.

 

                Castiel looked up from his research and silently observed in increasing amusement. Once the angel recovered, he shot the human a steely look.

 

“No one else ever hears about this,” Dean warned, trying to muster all the dignity he could.

 

“I’d advise chewing before swallowing for future reference,” Castiel drily replied.

 

                Dean rolled his eyes, wryly answering with,

 

“Alright. I bow to your medical advice, Doctor Sexy.”

 

                That drew Castiel’s attention. His eyes unglued themselves from his laptop screen, locking themselves onto Dean. After a moment of surprise, then confusion, followed by understanding, Castiel returned to his laptop.

 

“Gabriel is obsessed with that show. References to it will be better appreciated by him.”

 

“Yeah, but he’s not a doctor, is he?”

 

“I’m not a doctor,” Castiel staunchly reminded him.

 

“You will be. Once the Apocalypse thing is dealt with, you can do whatever you want,” Dean retorted.

 

                If the demon blood thing couldn’t be avoided, then damned if Dean wouldn’t help in any way he could. Dean had seen enough of humans to know that hope was just as vital as oxygen. The glint of interest that sparked in Castiel’s eyes would have to be enough for now.

 

                When Dean eventually tossed another donut into his mouth, he didn’t repeat his mistake. Instead, the angel crossed the room and peered over the human’s shoulder.

 

“So, what exactly are you doing?”

 

“Attempting to find reception.”

 

                Dean wasn’t exactly an expert in technology, so he made a noncommittal noise that he hoped was appropriate given the situation.

 

“For what?”

 

“Research.”

 

               Blue eyes were intent as they scrolled through a list of potential signals. None were unsecured, other than one with a signal that threatened to flicker out at any given moment. Castiel tried to connect with various networks before admitting defeat and referring back to the open network. After unsuccessfully trying to load a page off the internet, Castiel scowled.

 

               Then, the younger Novak folded his laptop shut, tucked it under his arm, and headed for the door.

 

“What are you going?”

 

“I’m going in pursuit of a decent signal.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                This was ridiculous. If any angel glanced his way, Dean was going to become the laughingstock of Heaven for the next millennium. He defiantly leaned against the trunk of the tree, listening to the rustling of branches above him. If one of those branches splintered and broke, Dean was NOT going to use his grace to heal Castiel once the human fell several stories to the ground. If anything was going to blow his cover, it would certainly not be that. Not for something as stupid as that.

 

                Dean stood there. The occasional twig or leaf pelted on him to inform him of Castiel’s progress. Out of sheer boredom, Dean eventually called up the tree.

 

“Was this really necessary?”

 

“If it weren’t not the dead of night, no. I have no other methods to procure a signal. We're working with what we have/”

 

“But do you have to do this now? It’s not like the view from down here isn’t bad, but I don’t see why it can’t wait until morning.”

 

                It might’ve been coincidence, but Dean swore that a purposefully felled stick nearly pegged him midway through the statement.

 

               Above him, Castiel deftly scaled the limbs of an oak. Through the foliage, he could just make out the downtown area. It was a nice view. And peeking through the leaves above him was a brilliant night sky. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a tourist on a sightseeing vacation.

 

              Castiel nestled himself between the trunk and an outstretched branch, then opened his laptop once more. This time, he was greeted with an adequate two bars. The brunette led out a low hum of approval and continued his research.

 

              When Castiel eventually reappeared, he did not do so in a regular fashion. Instead, the human silently dropped to the ground in front of Dean without bothering to give a warning. Dean startled, recoiling back into the bark of the trunk.

 

“What the hell, Cas? A freakin’ heads-up would be nice!” Dean cursed after he was out of imminent danger of a heart attack.

 

“My people skills are… rusty,” Castiel coolly replied.

 

“I can see that,” Dean muttered. “Did you spend more time in trees than on the ground, socializing?”

 

                Castiel gave a stiff shrug, like it was an unpracticed movement. It took Dean a moment to remember that it might very easily be true.

 

“I liked to climb,” the human simply replied, going taut.

 

                Dean, of course, knew that there was much more to it than only liking to climb. The scenery was always nice from above and it allowed for a vantage point above everything else. If one wanted to observe but not to act, it offered a perfect haven. It had offered respite from his dysfunctional family. Not to mention that people rarely looked up, so his chances of being found had always been less than likely.

 

                But Dean knew the main reason. When Castiel was still a child, he’d believed that the higher he could climb, the closer he’d be to Heaven. And consequentially, the closer he could be to God. That was what Dean had heard from his childhood prayers, at least.

 

                It had always been Dean who listened to the doe eyed child worry for hours about his family’s safety on hunts, then angrily rant when he was left behind or got into a particularly nasty argument with his father.  There had been an undying loyalty to God in his younger years- even until quite recently. The one constant thing in his life, someone who supposedly listened and understood (even though the messages had never made it to God at all). But as they always did, things had changed.

 

                The angel didn’t suppose Castiel had done much climbing lately, if the lack of prayer was anything to go by.

 

                There were a lot of things the angel wanted to say to Castiel. But all that came out was a simple,

 

“How’d it go?”

 

“In the past hour, a girl was at a Halloween party before burning alive while bobbing apples. No more data has yet to be released,” Castiel responded.

 

                Dean nodded. He turned around to consult with Sam, before realizing that his brother was still absent. He frowned. Then, his eyes narrowed.

 

“Where the hell are they? They should’ve been back a while ago!” Dean snapped.

 

                Castiel gave him an innocent look, shrugging once more. The angel groaned in exasperation, fishing for his phone in his pocket. His first call was unnoticed entirely. The second was answered on the fourth ring.    

 

“Sammy? You there?” Dean gruffly asked.

 

                For a moment, static bloomed through the receiver of the phone. Then, Sam’s muffled voice crackled on the other end. His words sputtered through the speaker, fizzing into unintelligible sound.

 

“I can’t hear you. Are you outside?”

 

                There was indistinct banter on the other end, then the rustling of movement. After a minute, Sam spoke once more.

 

“Yeah, we’re outside.”

 

                Dean scowled.

 

“First of all- where are you? You should’ve been here half an hour ago!”

 

“We got hung up,” came the sheepish reply.

 

                Dean scowled.

 

“What’s that supposed to- you know what? I don’t even want to know. Where are you?”

 

“The street sign says DuBois Boulevard.”

 

“I don't- whatever. Look, Cas and I are headed to check out the place where this chick got herself well-broiled bobbing apples at a party. It’s gonna be our mystery witch. I’ll give you the address. Meet us there. And don’t you dare show up looking friggin’ windswept. If you do, swear I’ll throttle that candy-coated nightmare.”

 

                Dean listed the address, then hung up on his brother.

 

“Cas, looks like you get to renew your position in the driver’s seat. Permanently, if they’ve been up to what I think they have.”

 

                Then the green eyed angel whipped around to return to the motel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't tell if this is alright or utter crap. It did come a little late, so sorry for that. Anyways, I think Stairway to Heaven is a pretty good unofficial theme song for this fic. The lyrics sort of fit, it's Classic Rock, Led Zeppelin is one of my favorites, so, yeah. A good match, I think. If you disagree or know a better song, let me know! Thanks for reading. Leave any criticism, suggestions, or thoughts in the comments! <3
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Gabriel have a conversation that's long overdue.

**_Chapter 11_ **

   


  


                They reunited in the basement of the murder house. It was similar to every crime scene the Novaks had ever seen. Witnesses milled about with traumatized looks, the incompetent police questioning a few. An officer from forensics photographed a tub for bobbing for apples as if it might supply an answer.

   


                Across the room, a policeman spoke to a shaken teenaged girl. Dean could sense Sam stiffening to attention. It was obvious now that they were in close quarters, really. The angels could sense the age radiating from the seemingly young woman. In addition to that, a shadow imperceptible to the regular human shrouded her, the kind only a soul corrupted by dark witchcraft could create.

   


                They’d located the witch, although both Novaks were none the wiser. In other circumstances, that would pass as good news. But their orders weren’t to locate and exterminate Samhain’s servant.

   


                Sam’s jaw clenched. A struggle of will between his consciousness and his orders arose. They would resolve the issue. Not through the option Heaven had proposed, but through the Novak option. Sam had faith that the Novaks would avoid the release of Samhain in a solution of their own.

   


                Still, Sam didn’t trust himself enough to act normally around the witch. That was how he ended up volunteering to hunt for the hex bag. Dean joined him. The younger angel reasoned it was likely for the same reason.

   


“It’s just so weird. The water in the tub- it wasn’t hot, I had just been in there myself,” the girl explained to the police offer as the Novaks approached.

   


                Castiel donned his usual attire, which was plenty formal. Gabriel wore the cheap suit that had been brought for him by his brother, preened into respectability. The younger of the two almost expected Gabriel to give the rather attractive girl a once over, but he did nothing. In fact, his brother seemed strangely preoccupied. Serious, even. It was disturbing.

   


               The blue eyed man would have to ask him about it later. When it became clear the older hunter was too distracted to initiate the interrogation, Castiel did so himself.

   


“Your friend didn’t happen to have any association with a man by the name of Luke Wallace, did she?”

   


                It was unfortunate that Castiel was too oblivious to notice the way the girl’s eyes narrowed, sizing the duo up. She recovered in a fleeting moment. The girl tilted her head in an innocent motion, eyes wide as both brothers removed their fake badges.

   


“FBI agent Seger and Young.”

   


“Who’s Luke Wallace?” the girl questioned.

   


“He expired yesterday,” Castiel replied.

   


“I don’t know who that is,” she insisted.

   


                Castiel’s eyes went to the flash of movement from behind the girl. Sam lifted a hex bag, standing up beside a couch of overturned pillows. He nodded to the girl as a parting action, then made his exit.

   


               The blue eyed man and his brother were the first out of the house. Castiel took advantage of the absence of accompaniment.

   


“Are you alright? You seem… thoughtful.”

   


                It wasn’t as accurate as “totally out of it,” but it seemed less insulting. Gabriel opened his mouth to deny it. He didn’t follow through, by some miracle. The conversation was unavoidable in the long run. Even if it had slipped back into Castiel’s mind after Gabriel’s nightmares abruptly ceased, it was still there. As much as he wanted to, Gabriel couldn’t hide forever. If his flashbacks were anything to go by, at least.

   


“Cas… you remember when that time when we first met the Winchesters? I promised I’d tell you what I remembered from Hell the next day.”

   


                The younger hunter slowly nodded.

   


“You failed to.”

   


“Obviously. I was wasted- which wasn’t intentional, by the way,” Gabriel sharply countered. He sighed once more, trying to adopt a kinder tone. “I guess now’s a good a time as any.”

   


                The elder Novak gave a sharp intake. Then, he yanked the flask from his pocket and emptied it in a single swig. Dean and Sam walked outside moments after the elder Novak pocketed his flask. It would give Gabriel a small respite from the stiff conversation, if nothing else. The smile he tried to aim at Sam resembled a grimace more closely than anything else. Sam, in return, eyed him with concern.

   


“Anything interesting?” the hazel eyed man inquired in an effort to stall.

   


                Castiel was uninterested in the reply, eyes sent intent on his brother. Dean’s mouth was open in an answer when Castiel interrupted.

   


“Would you allow the two of us a moment?”

   


                Dean looked between the two of them, then decided that he wanted no part in whatever was about to go down.

   


“Sure. We’ll be in the Impala. C’mon, Sammy.”

   


                The green eyed angel ushered his brother off the porch. Gabriel watched Sam retreat. The same stare continued to be directed at him. He was distracted when the younger hunter interrupted his thoughts.

   


“What were you saying?”

   


                A resigned sigh came from the shorter man as he leaned heavily against the railing of the porch.

   


“Everything.”

   


                Castiel squinted his eyes, certain that he’d misheard. Or misunderstood his brother. Or something. Gabriel wouldn’t quite meet his gaze, staring out at the street. Eventually, he continued.

   


“I remember everything. I tried to forget, Cas, but I can’t. It’s all I can think about most of the time.”

   


“I believed-.”

   


“I lied about having forgotten,” Gabriel intervened, easily predicting his brother’s line of thought.

   


                Gabriel jerked away from the hand his brother laid on his shoulder.

   


“I’m sorry,” Castiel murmured after a passing silence.

   


“Don’t apologize. I don’t deserve that. Not after the things I did.”

   


                Another confused pause.

   


“I don’t understand.”

   


                The silence stretched on until at last Gabriel burst.

   


“Thirty years. That’s how long they tortured me.”

   


                Castiel flinched.

   


“I’m sorry, Gabriel… I’m incapable of imagining-.”

   


“STOP APOLOGIZING, DAMN IT!” Gabriel yelled.

   


                The younger Novak recoiled, hurt. Castiel waited, then clenched his jaw. The blue eyed man begun to trot down the steps of the porch when a nearly inaudible whisper of a voice reached his ears.

   


“Forty years.”

   


                Castiel stopped in his tracks and turned back to his brother. Shadows hung long over his haunted face. He suddenly looked far too old for his age. Hooded hazel eyes eventually slid over to meet Castiel’s blue ones.

   


“Forty years is how long I spent in Hell.”

   


                It took the younger hunter far longer to process that.

   


“I tried to hold out. I did. But, eventually, I couldn’t. I got off the rack so I could put other people on it.”

   


                When Gabriel heard his brother’s silence, it was worse than anything than any words. He wanted to shake his brother, make him say something, anything. But he found that he couldn’t meet Castiel’s gaze. When he at last felt the hand on his shoulder, the older hunter couldn’t muster the willpower to swat it away again.

   


“Thirty years is a long time, Gabriel.”

   


                It was so comforting, so reassuring, that Gabriel wanted to turn around and punch his brother. He didn’t want to be forgiven- he didn’t deserve to be forgiven for the things he had done. The elder Novak wanted his brother to yell at him, to tell him all the things Gabriel already knew. That he was a weak coward. That he deserved what had come his way.

   


                But Gabriel couldn’t explain that to Castiel. His brother wouldn’t understand because he tried so goddamn hard to be sympathetic. So, he just let out a shaky breath that wasn’t anything near laughter and went on.

   


“I remember everything, except for how I got out.”

   


                That silenced Castiel. Gabriel was honestly wondering if the stress had finally gotten to him. At this point, the elder hunter would’ve believed that he’d cracked. If this was all some delirious nightmare.

   


“I keep remembering it in flashes. Last time… I could’ve sworn I saw Sam. He was trying to help me escape. I couldn’t make out the face, but it looked damn well like him.”

   


                There. He’d said it. Now his little brother could not only look at him like he was a horrible monster, but also insane. It was every bit as relieving to have it off his chest as it was worrying. Gabriel doubted that even as m

   


“Perhaps we could attempt to recover more memories before we act out on anything. Is there a particular trigger for the memories?” the younger rationally asked.

   


                That got him thinking. Gabriel let out a shaky laugh when he came to a conclusion.

   


“Yeah. Sam Winchester.”

   


   


* * *

   


   


   


                There had been little in the way of conversation on the way back. Castiel had been buried beneath a pile of heavy thought, similar to Gabriel. The angels were both concerned. And Sam was continuously thrown stares when they believed no one was looking.  

   


                It was more of the same when they returned to the motel. Hell, Gabriel and Castiel didn’t even make eye contact in the period of research that followed.

   


                After half an hour of silence, Sam eventually grew tired of the tension.

   


“What if the witch isn’t working a grudge?” he suggested, looking up from a dusty tome that had been thrown his way.

   


                Castiel gave the ceiling a thoughtful look.

   


“You refer to her working a spell instead?”

   


                Sam nodded.

   


“It’s Halloween. Halloween’s a holiday originating with the Celts. They thought it was the night when the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest.”

   


                Castiel caught onto what the angel was saying. He redirected his attention back to his beloved laptop (miraculously enough, Sam seemed to have magically procured a signal for him after messing with the device for a minute). After a flurry of typing, Castiel found a promising link. He skimmed through the webpage. Satisfied, the human read it aloud.

   


“A ritual tailored to summon Samhain requiring three blood sacrifices over three days may be performed every six hundred years. The last must be before midnight on the final night of the Celtic calendar harvest- otherwise known as Halloween.”

   


“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Gabriel wryly asked.

   


“Samhain is the origin of Halloween. Masks were used to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago.”

   


“So, bigshot witches and bigshot demons. It’s friggin’ Christmas,” Gabriel sarcastically muttered.

   


“Samhain also has the ability to raise nearly every supernatural being we’ve ever battled throughout the night,” Castiel added.

   


“He sounds like a bucket of smiles,” the elder Novak snarkily retorted.

   


“I can assure you that he isn’t,” Castiel seriously responded.

   


                Sam couldn’t have agreed more. But it was their job is guide them towards a conclusion, not to do all the heavy lifting themselves. If it were up to him, he could’ve had the entire thing solved. He and Dean could be saving another seal right now.

   


“Alright. So someone had to have planted the hex bags, someone with access to both houses. There had to be some connection,” the younger angel reasoned.

   


“We can follow through tomorrow,” Dean interjected.

   


                He wasn’t tired at all, of course. But both Castiel and Gabriel appeared to be on the brink of collapsing. Castiel nodded, giving him a grateful smile.

   


“I don’t know about you two, but I could get in some shuteye,” the elder angel explained, faking a yawn.

   


                Gabriel saluted them as they left, then stood.

   


“I’m going to clean up,” he declared.

   


                Castiel closed his laptop, crawled into bed, and curled into a ball. The hand under his pillow gripped his P38, the other acting as a pillow. His actual pillow lied abandoned on the floor, covered in miscellaneous stains. The blue eyed man had no intention of falling asleep. He really didn’t. But he it was too much of a struggle to keep his eyes open.

   


                Gabriel left the bathroom shortly after. He pulled on his nightshirt as he fell onto his own bed.

   


“I’m done. It’s all...”

   


                He trailed off upon seeing his unconscious brother, completely unresponsive to the world.

   


                Gabriel wished sleep would come to him that easily. He was exhausted in every sense of the word, yet sleep evaded him. For what felt like an eternity, he simply stared at the reflection of himself in the mirror on the ceiling. It was too dark to make out much else than his general form. It was still better than closing them, when images of Hell troubled him.

   


                Even if the nightmares had stopped, the waking ones hadn’t ceased.

   


                But eventually, he allowed himself to let his eyes drift shut for just a moment. Gabriel was asleep before he could even think about unsealing them.

   


                Castiel was on his couch in his apartment once more. He believed he was, at least, until he noticed that. Then, things were muted. Color wasn’t quite as vivid, sound not as crisp. The open doorways that were supposed to lead into open rooms led into murky darkness. The medical books scattered across his coffee table were open, but the words were blurred. Under intense scrutiny, the younger Novak found that they came into focus.

   


                His laptop sat on his thighs. When he reviewed what he’d supposedly been typing up before the realization that this was unreal proved to be nothing but gibberish.

   


                The blue eyed man sighed. He sunk into the cushions of his couch, willing the entire thing to return back to his normal state of sleep.

   


“So you and your brother sort of had a bonding experience, huh?”

   


                Castiel glanced to the familiar voice.

   


“I’m not a morning person as it is. I would appreciate if I could continue sleeping,” Castiel crossly retorted.

   


“You are sleeping,” Dean cheerily countered.

   


“If I’m accurately aware of an unconscious state, then I’m not sleeping.”

   


“Why would you want to return to your regularly scheduled programming when you could have me instead? I’m awesome.”

   


                Castiel wondered if dream Dean would leave if hWSse were to chuck a book at him. He didn’t. So the blue eyed man settled for ignoring the apparition until it decided to disappear. He didn’t. Instead, Dean begun to walk around the room. It was distracting to Castiel, especially when Dean begun to hum Led Zeppelin as he leafed through Castiel’s mental apartment bookshelf.

   


“Will you quit?” the hunter eventually snapped.

   


“What? Am I distracting you?” Dean innocently asked.

   


“Yes.”

   


“From what?” he challenged.

   


                Castiel stared at the blank screen of his laptop. 

   


“Sleep. I am not a morning person.”

   


“Drink coffee.”

   


“This will be the first semblance of rest I’ll have received for thirty-six hours.”

   


“Sounds unhealthy.”

   


“So is actively hunting living nightmares.”

   


“Point taken.”

  


                When Castiel looked up again, imaginary Dean was giving him a strange look.

   


“You really should take better care of yourself.”

   


                Whether that referred to his actual physical health or something more along the lines of “stop chugging demon blood- you’ll force your family to kill you,” Castiel was unsure. Before he could do say anything further on the matter, Dean switched gears entirely.

   


“So, how’re you dealing with the whole “my brother from Hell” thing?”

   


                Castiel grimaced. The second time around, the blue eyed man could see it with more clarity. There was something wrong about the entire thing. It was too realistic. For someone who knew they were dreaming, he seemed to have little control over the world and its happenings. And there was something about Dean that gave set off Castiel’s radar.

   


                In his dreams, Castiel was either dying, Gabriel was dying, or being taunted that they would both be killed because of him. An abrupt change was unnatural. Were he someone else, he might’ve shrugged it off. But there was something entirely paranormal about the situation. Considering that Gabriel was having similar experiences only added to his suspicions.

   


                The hunter narrowed his eyes at the angel. Then, he woke himself up before Dean could get out a single word of protest.

   


                For a long time, the younger Novak quietly stared at the ceiling. Gabriel was peacefully snoring in his own bed. Occasionally, the sheets would rustle as he turned about.

   


                Sleep was far from Castiel’s mind. His mind was a hive of activity, listing any paranormal creatures that could visit an unconscious mind. The final draft ended up being quite lengthy. There were too many variables to accurately form a hypothesis.

   


                So, the brunette did the only thing he could. He coaxed his eyes closed, his breathing to slow. It wasn’t as if he could be physically injured inside his mind. That was a actually lie- there were a few on his list that could kill him from within his mind. He didn’t have much of a choice, though- besides, fake Dean hadn’t shown any signs of aggression towards him.

   


                Yet. Castiel was nearly positive that his personality might be subject to change now that suspicions had sprouted.

   


                But clearly a lesson had been learned by the haunter of his dreams.

   


                This time, he fell into an undisturbed dreamless sleep.

   


                Gabriel wasn’t so lucky. He was alone, somewhere in the bowels of Hell. The air was pierced with the sound of anguished shrieking. Sweat plastered his hair to his face, bloodstained shirt to his back. His vision was spotted with colors that might’ve been from the lights or from blood dripping into his eyes. He wasn’t quite sure. He forced himself to hush unsteady gulps of steamy air.

   


                Howls neared from somewhere, the telltale sign of Hellhounds sent to retrieve him/

   


                The knife in his hands was coated in blood. It was unsettling to him that he wasn’t quite sure where it had originated. Every inch of his body seemed to be caked in blood or sweat. Or a sticky mixture of both. Blood was caked beneath his fingernails, drying into sweat-matted hair.

   


                How had he gotten there? What was happening?

   


                The questions were never answered, because a Hellhound lurched at him from the shadows. around the corner turned a hoard of demons. Their eyes seemed to glimmer upon seeing him. They surged over him like a wave. He never had a chance.

   


                As he dreamed, Gabriel thrashed violently in his bed. The word “no” escaped his lips in increasing desperation as in his dream, he was torn apart.  


  


                Castiel awoke again. Not because of some pseudo-reality dream or because he wanted to. It was rather because of the rustling from Gabriel’s side of the room that had slowly dragged him from the depths of sleep. It was strangely quiet considering that something had awoken him.

  


                He strained his ears. There it was. A low hum of noise. A voice, speaking soothingly to his brother off in the inky shadows. As Castiel tuned into it, the hunter identified the language as something foreign. If it was an exorcism, it was like none other he’d heard. Then, his mind sharpened with the abrupt realization that unless his brother had secretly learned another language, there was an intruder in their room.

  


                Castiel moved slowly and quiet so as to not alert the invader to his presence. The second he flipped off the safety of his gun, the younger Novak flipped onto his side, throwing his covers away. He nearly discharged his gun.

  


                In the darkness, he could make out a vague figure sitting on the edge of Gabriel’s bed.

  


“Sam?” Castiel perplexedly asked.

  


                But when Castiel blinked, the shadow was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you guys go! Honestly, I edited this with like zero percent care, so it may be riddled with errors. Complain about that in the comments below. I realized that Castiel and Gabriel never had the conversation I hinted at in Chapter 2 (pretty sure that's the chapter, I'm too lazy and tired to check), so I decided to make them talk about their problems. Anyways, Gabriel's starting to put together the pieces. Comment any suggestions, criticism, etc!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is emotionally challenged.

**_Chapter 12_**  

 

 

                Castiel was not a morning person by any means. His mornings were usually composed of Gabriel yanking away his blankets then retreating into the safety of the bathroom while his brother slowly came to consciousness.

 

                But when he awoke that day, he did so with a rare level of vigor. By the time Gabriel roused himself to the clacking of keys, the younger Novak had been awake for some time. There was a piping hot coffee on his nightstand alongside a foam container of an All-American breakfast. The elder hunter looked over to his brother, who seemed to be occupying himself with his laptop. Empty foam cups littered the table.

 

                Gabriel didn’t even get out of bed as he dragged the container to him. He sat up, still swaddled in blankets, and crunched on a crispy piece of greasy bacon.

 

“So, have you gone full nerd on me? What’s going on?”

 

                Castiel ignored the thinly-veiled insult in favor of closing yet another unhelpful website.

 

“Research.”

 

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Why?”

 

“Why not?” the younger countered, too busy to form a better response.

 

“You call mornings an abomination, for one.”

 

“There are exceptions,” Castiel countered.

 

“When you were a kid, you once screeched so loudly when I woke you up that dad nearly shot me because he thought I was attacking you.”

 

“I assure you that was completely accidental.”

 

“I can only lure you out of bed with girly caffeinated drinks. Hey- you like this time of year, don’t you? Isn’t this the time of year for Pumpkin Spice Lattes?”

 

                Castiel ignored him.

 

                Gabriel didn’t particularly care if his brother got up or not. It was really just his brotherly duty to ridicule him no matter what. Besides, he’d won the morning. He didn’t have to wake up his brother and he could have breakfast in bed. It was a win-win. The older hunter was more preoccupied in attacking his bacon than his brother’s odd awakening when Castiel asked,

 

“What did you dream of last night?”

 

                The older Novak crunched thoughtfully on his bacon.

 

“That’s kind of an intrusive question. Sure you want to know?” he snorted in reply.

 

                The unamused glare Castiel sent him caused the elder brother to roll his eyes and seriously consider the question. Gabriel froze for a few seconds after that. Had he been yelling out loud? It took him a little more consideration to realize that he didn’t properly remember at all. His memories seemed to be clouded in thick mist- impossible to navigate.

 

“I don’t know,” he eventually admitted.

 

                Castiel didn’t seem to believe him. The hazel eyed man paused to see if his brother would verbally accuse him of lying. He didn’t. Instead, the younger man just looked back to his laptop.

 

                It was silence after that. Gabriel plowed through his breakfast. Castiel plowed through website and website, unable to find anything that magically explained the situation. Discovering that he’d downed all of his caffeinated drinks, the blue eyed man eventually stood and left the room in pursuit of a vending machine.

 

                It was only part of the ploy, though. Castiel needed an excuse to get out of the stuffy room so that he could call Bobby without Gabriel mocking him for his paranoia.  

 

                Dean was purchasing his breakfast. Sort of. He really didn’t want to venture far from the motel room, so he’d simply walked outside to discover the machine there. It had given the angel a renewed appreciation for the conveniences of humans. He assumed some angels would argue their conveniences was simply a disguise for thinly-veiled slothfulness.

 

                Angels really didn’t give humans enough credit. Perhaps they ought to spend some more of time reveling in their accomplishments instead of continuously insulting them.     

 

                Dean smirked at that, retrieving his goodies from the vending machine as Castiel approached. The human seemed to be thoughtful about something. Dean supposed that he could simply delve into his thoughts, but that seemed unnecessary.

 

“That isn’t a substantial breakfast,” Castiel commented.

 

“Yeah, but it was right here,” Dean retorted.

 

                The blue eyed man gave him a lingering look of scrutiny. Then, he turned to the vending machine and begun to punch its buttons. An energy drink for himself, a Pepsi for Gabriel.

 

“Sleep well?” Dean casually asked, tossing a handful of chips into his mouth.

 

                Castiel faltered a moment. So perhaps he was as clever as the stories detailed. Dean played through his options. It wasn’t time for them to start catching on, not yet. He needed to buy time. Dean needed to throw Castiel off their trail by whatever means necessary. That was something he could do.

 

                 The human forced nonchalance as he answered.

 

“Well enough.”

 

“I wasn’t going to say anything to Sam, but I keep having these weird dreams.”

 

                That seemed to pique Castiel’s interest.

 

“Of what nature?”

 

“It’s hard to explain. I know I’m dreaming, but I can’t do anything about it.’

 

                Castiel seemed convinced, but not any less concerned.

 

“What about Gabriel?” Dean asked.

 

“Gabriel is… experiencing memories.”

 

                Dean narrowed his eyes.

 

“I’m going to guess they aren’t the sunshine and glitter kind?”

 

                The angel felt that he already knew. When Castiel didn’t seem inclined to share, it only cemented his suspicions.

 

“I assume you know what occurred,” he eventually replied.

 

“Yeah. He magically wakes up six feet under, claws his way aboveground without any wear-and-tear.”

 

“Yes. Gabriel seems to be recalling how he did so.”

 

                Dean directed a troubled look at nothing in particular. Castiel seemed to think it was directed at him, because he hastened to defend himself.

 

“I didn’t have a hand in his resurrection. Gabriel seems to believe otherwise, although I had no means to rise him from Hell.”

 

“I believe you,” Dean honestly assured him in the brief lull.

 

                It wasn’t something that Castiel had verbally questioned, but it was what the blue eyed man needed to hear. No one had fully believed him. Not Gabriel, not Bobby, no one. Everyone seemed to think that he’d made some under-the-table deal with horrible consequences. Gabriel seemed particularly concerned that they were going to enter another whirlwind of demon deals. Despite Castiel’s forceful protests that he was willing to accept the consolation prize of killing Lilith.

 

                No matter what shady methods he’d resorted to, Castiel had eventually given up on saving his brother. There had simply been no way to do so. So he’d resorted to the shady methods he had to win his consolation prize. Dean knew all of this- but he knew most of all, Castiel needed someone to place trust in him. No matter that Dean knew the story of how Gabriel had risen. Castiel blinked, then smiled.

 

                Dean found himself involuntarily smiling back. The human was close to him, enough for the angel to be able to examine him closely. Azure eyes were focused intently on him, more vivid than the heavens above. Dean felt something blooming in his chest, an undeniable fondness. It felt… warm, comforting. It was something entirely new and entirely confusing. Something entirely human.

 

                In a rush of adrenaline and bravery, Castiel leaned forwards. When the angel didn’t jerk away, the human sealed the space between them with a wave of newfound confidence.

 

                Dean’s eyes were wide open as the human kissed him. It didn’t seem to be the right thing to do, given that Castiel’s were closed, but the angel wanted to memorize the moment. Heat radiated off the man like a furnace, dark stubble rasping on his face. The connection between them was blissful, the same connection that had always led Dean to listen to faithful prayers and act out on them in whatever subtle way he could manage. He wanted to lean into the human, inhale his unique musk. He wanted to protect him against everything and assure him that things would be fine.

 

                That was before logic overwhelmed impulsive emotion. The rational part of his brain jumpstarted when the angel felt Uriel’s grace stirring nearby.

 

                Dean was certain this would count as disobedience. Something that not only he- but also Sam- would be punished for.

 

                That was why the angel abruptly shoved Castiel away.

 

                Confusion flashed through brilliant eyes as the brunette stumbled away. Then hurt took over. The angel ignored it as he brusquely excused himself.

 

“I’ve got to go.” As an afterthought, he half-heartedly mumbled, “Sorry, Cas.”

 

                Castiel watched as the taller man retreated in purposefully long strides. Dean didn’t look back.

 

                Castiel had volunteered to take watch outside the Wallace house. A quiet stint gathering information, alone, was what he needed. It got him far away from his brother, who had been questioning him about his moping all morning. Not to mention Dean, who hadn’t done so much as look at him the remainder of the morning. Sam had gone out scouting the murder house from the prior night, so being alone with the pair of them really hadn’t been on Castiel’s wish list.

               

                The brunette had called Bobby and described the antics of their newest dream mystery monster. On top of the witch and Samhain, there just HAD to be a third supernatural entity.

                He’d interviewed Ms. Wallace another time to no avail. Then, he’d researched Samhain until his brain was nearly liquefied.

 

                So now, he was alone in the Impala without any distraction and his many thoughts.

 

                It was Gabriel who mercifully saved him.

 

                Castiel answered immediately.

 

“How’s it goin’?”

 

“I have not come across any new intel.”

 

“Yeah, well, like Sam said, there’s gotta be something connecting them.”

 

                The noise of cellophane crinkled on the other line, leaving Castiel to wonder what sort of sugary hell Gabriel was indulging himself in.

 

“How have things gone on your side?” Castiel inquired.

 

                Gabriel glanced to the TV on the other side of the room, which was currently showing the latest episode of Doctor Sexy. He wisely chose not to inform his brother that the afternoon had been wasted binge watching the show with Dean after boredom had taken over. They hadn’t necessarily meant for it to happen, but they hadn’t fought heatedly against it either.

 

“Productive,” the elder Novak merrily lied.

 

                There was hesitation on the other end, then Castiel hissed a curse.

 

“Have Sam return. I’ve unearthed our witch.”

 

                The younger Novak unceremoniously hung up. Gabriel glared at the phone a moment, then turned to Dean.

 

“Party’s over. Pretend like we’ve accomplished something in the past three hours.”

 

                Sam returned shortly after, followed by Castiel. The younger Novak keyed something into his laptop, then turned it to face the room.

 

“Her name is supposedly Tracy Davis. I recognized her from the Halloween party. She claimed never to have met Luke Wallace yesterday, although she works as their babysitter.”

 

                Dean was fairly certain he mocked surprise well enough. At least the Novaks were competent enough to correctly identify the witch, angels or not. Stopping her would be another matter.

 

                With the pace things were going, Dean was considerably less optimistic about the outcome than his younger brother. Perhaps they’d identified the witch, but locating her was another matter entirely. Time was running short and things had veered as far off from Dean’s half-baked plan as possible. The elder angel didn’t doubt that there would be an interference soon enough if the worth of the Novaks’ trust wasn’t proven.

 

                He forced himself to hold the gaze that Castiel eventually aimed his way. After a brief moment, the human refocused onto his laptop.

 

“I researched her. She became involved in a violent altercation with one of her teachers and was subsequently suspended from school.”

 

                Dean read through the image that appeared on Castiel’s machine. He supposed the information might’ve been useful. Unfortunately, a witch clever enough to cloak herself from angels likely wasn’t foolish enough to be caught at her home address. He couldn’t say that aloud, though. The elder angel sent his brother a sharp look as a warning to remain silent.

 

“Then let’s go talk to this unlucky bastard,” Gabriel suggested.

 

                No protests were made, so the Novaks stood.

 

“You guys go ahead. We’ll meet you there,” Sam declared.

 

                Gabriel raised his brows, as if the idea that they might have some other form of transportation were a foreign one. Sam supposed they might have to find some car if the charade was to continue much longer. The elder Novak ushered his relieved brother from the room. The two angels were left in heavy silence.

 

“I don’t like where this is going,” Dean announced before his brother could get a word in.

 

“I haven’t even started talking yet,” Sam protested.

 

“Great. Let’s keep it that way.”

 

“Dean. Hear me out, won’t you? We can’t lose this Seal-.”

 

“Sam, look, I know where this is going. We’re not going to do anything stupid.”

 

“Dean- this is stupid! We’re wasting time here! I know that you want to be the good son, but the angels can’t keep this up. We’re losing. We need the Novaks now. I know they’ll hear us out. Just think about-!”

 

“No,” Dean harshly interrupted for a second time, “We’re going to do this like we planned to. You don’t have to like it, but you’ll do it or I’ll send you somewhere else. We’re on thin ice, Sammy. We don’t get to pick our battles right now.”

 

                Sam glared at his brother, but sunk into a resigned silence. For now. Dean knew better than to hope that the conversation would be permanently dropped. It would always resurface. It always had. The silence stretched on while Dean contemplated an escape from the entire situation.

 

“Gabriel’s remembering. His nightmares are coming back. I don’t know how much longer the block in his memory will hold out.” Sam admitted.

 

“I know. How long can you preserve it?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m a living reminder of all that happened. His mind is trying to break through, so things are going to keep slipping through the cracks.” Sam tersely replied,

 

“What are you going to do about it?”

 

“Nothing, yet.”

 

“Look, Dean-.”

 

“Sam, it’s you who needs to forget whatever happened in Hell!” Dean snapped.

 

                The younger angel silenced. Seven months should’ve been an insignificant amount of time. It had dragged endlessly on, choked full of weariness and worry in every spare moment. Sam saw that there was reason to what Dean had said. He had changed after ascending through the Earth’s crust (metaphorically, but the meaning still held).

 

                There had been an edge to the newer version of himself. 

 

                Gabriel didn’t remember, not in full. Sam did.

 

                Dean didn’t understand and Sam doubted that he ever could. For that reason his brother held a deep rooted distrust for the hazel eyed man- the man who had changed his brother in the brief time that he’d been out of Dean’s watchful gaze.

 

                So instead of pointlessly arguing, Sam silently zapped himself out of the room. Dean stood in the abandoned room, a feeling of dread surging through him. Then, he zapped himself to the school.              

              

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, for a fanfiction writer, I have a ridiculous amount of trouble with kiss scenes. The buildup has to perfect, then the tension, then the inevitable destruction of a relationship through miscommunication and emotionally stunted characters. I basically realized I was 30k words in and there hadn't been a kiss, so, here you go. It felt pretty right to me, so hopefully you guys think the same thing. I'm also incapable of seeing straight at the moment, so inform me of any errors. Please leave criticism, suggestions, and feedback in the comments below! They inspire me ^~^
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When shit hits the fan, it happens all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a (hopefully) horrifying scene where someone kind of melts. Be forewarned if you sicken easily.

  **Chapter 13**

 

 

                Gabriel’s arm ached horribly as he stormed into their motel room. He stomped over to a cracked mirror, then slid up the sleeve of his flannel. Upon examining the inflamed skin on his arm, he flew into a spree of curses. His scar looked particularly livid. The hunter's fingertips grazed across the injury. He scowled when he flinched. Gabriel looked at the mark a moment longer, then roughly ripped his sleeve back down. He collapsed heavily onto the bed with another round of creative cursing.

 

               Seriously, why couldn’t someone without such an abnormally large hand have branded him? What ever happened to people without freakishly sized hands?

 

               His mood was foul for a number of reasons. The scorching handprint on his shoulder was only one of his many problems. 

 

                First, the visit to the high school teacher had proven totally useless. Their witch liked to draw gory orgies featuring herself as a participant. If they hadn't already known she was the witch, Gabriel had no doubt that would’ve been priceless information. But since they did, the entire trip had proved bloody useless.

 

                The only thing it had been good for was to dredge up another memory of Hell, courtesy of some freaky mask hanging from the ceilings of the art room.

 

                This time down memory lane, he’d been shrouded completely in white light. Even when he sealed his eyes shut, all he could see had been white. It consumed him. Strangely enough, he hadn’t struggled at all. He’d sort of sunk into the light's embrace, as if he were accepting his fate. The strangest thing about the entire flashback had been that Gabriel swore the white light had a death grip around his shoulder.

 

                Right where that handprint had been seared into his damned arm. So of course when he's resurfaced, his shoulder had become red and inflamed. 

 

                On top of that, when Gabriel had snapped out his haze, Castiel had given him an odd look. There wasn’t any more hiding what was going on. His brother had to have put together the pieces. The younger Novak hadn’t said anything aloud, thankfully. Probably because the Winchesters had been in their presence. At least that had worked in Gabriel's favor. 

 

                Next on his list, searching through Tracy’s apartment had proved totally unhelpful. Her friends had no idea where she was. The damned bitch had disappeared off the face of the world. They had less than a day to find her, kill her, and to stop the final sacrifice. Or to risk another broken seal and a particularly insane necromancer demon walking on Earth. 

 

               Of course. Gabriel was rarely lucky. This was one of many occasions when luck refused to side with him.

 

                Dean and Sam had gone off to some undisclosed location after their unsuccessful search. He had no idea where Castiel was. Gabriel had offered to return to the motel to try to find some hint to their witch’s whereabouts. Mostly to just get a moment alone to himself.

 

                If he was going to going to get through the day, he was going to need liquor. The hunter snorted to himself, muttering something sarcastic about the healing properties of whiskey. He removed his flask from his pocket and took a long swig.

 

                Gabriel had barely swallowed when he realized something was wrong. Very wrong.

 

                A fire seared through his throat as the liquid travelled downwards. Yes- alcohol burned. It was a pleasant burn, though. Like drinking liquid smoke. This was more like… more like…

 

                Gabriel coughed before he could finish the thought. Then, he involuntarily coughed again. His hand flung up to his mouth with another wheeze. It came away spattered with droplets of crimson. All at once, the taste of copper flooded his mouth. Something like acid coated his mouth, his throat. His pain receptors responded too late to the threat. The agony was consuming, quickly overwhelming him.

 

                He attempted to swing his legs onto the ground so he could stand. The hunter failed, collapsing into a heap by the bed. The world around him blurred. His hacking was insistent now, gore gushing from his lips with each gag. Tissue melted away. His insides were ablaze, crying out in vain. Gabriel tried to scream. A weak strangled noise was all that escaped his lips. Flesh disintegrated inside of him, chunks of skin dislodging from their proper places.

 

                His vision was going from clouded to completely red. It probably had something to do with the pool of blood he was submerged in. Blood was coming from his nose now, his deep coughing turning into choking as flesh became lodged in his throat. Blood trickled into his lungs, prompting him to cough more spews of crimson. He groaned. A throaty cough sent a hunk of something he didn’t want to think about onto the floor.

 

                Unconsciousness tugged at the corners of his mind, urging him to go down under. The only release from burning from inside out. He could feel his eyes start to close. Through the anguish, he silently sent an urge towards his brother.

 

“ _God, Castiel, look- look after yourself. I’m sorry. Sorry, Cas.”_

_  
_

Maybe he deserved to die, but not like this. Not on some stained motel floor in a puddle of his own blood.

 

The door to the motel flung open, but Gabriel was too far gone to notice.

 

                Sam instantly saw Gabriel curled onto the ground, vomiting blood and God knows what else. His first urge was to tear the room apart with his bare hands to find what was plaguing the human. He even started doing that before his logic kicked in. The human would be long dead once Sam found the hex bag if he didn't use his mojo. With a wave of his hand, his panicked grace located the hex bag. Another wave of his hand sent one of the walls peeling away like aluminum foil. Nestled inside a tuft of fiberglass was a tiny leather parcel with a Celtic symbol charred onto its side.

 

                Sam reduced it to cinders in less than a second with a snap of his fingers.

 

                Gabriel’s pain didn’t lessen. He continued to writhe, on the brink of dipping into unconsciousness. Sam was kneeling beside him in an instant.

 

                He placed a hand onto the human’s throat. Beneath his hand, flesh knitted itself back together. Cells revived themselves, splitting at supernatural rates to replace their fallen brethren. He drew the acid from Gabriel easily, evaporating the fluid into nothing. With the main problems taken care of, Sam cradled the human’s head in his lap. Gabriel's mind seemed to be elsewhere. The human's hands still shook, so the angel took to soothingly murmuring to him in Enochian.

 

                Gradually, Gabriel’s fits of coughing ceased. His breathing steadied, shaking stopping.

 

                He still looked very vaguely at Sam. But there was recognition there. He relaxed into Sam's grip.

 

“That bitch replaced my whiskey with battery acid,” he shakily mumbled.

 

                Sam let out a shaky noise that wasn’t laughter. Before Gabriel gained much more awareness, Sam restored some order to the room. Once he finished, it looked less like it had been subject to the destructive grace of an angel and more like the destructive forces of a crazed hunter had torn through it.

 

                The human stared absently at him, completely unaware of the change to the room.

 

“You have blood on your face.”

 

                Sam blinked. Now that his adrenaline was fading, he indeed noticed that droplets of blood spotted his face. The angel didn't mind, but the hunter was having none of it. Gabriel lifted a weak hand to try to wipe away the blood. The human mostly succeeded in smearing it around. Sam found it curious that Gabriel seemed undisturbed that he had marinated in the same fluid.

 

               The elder Novak had been saturated in his own blood. One side of his face had soaked in the puddle of blood, matting down his brown hair. His greenish brown jacket was reduced to a an unattractive rusty hue. At least his red flannel matched the crimson that stained it.

 

                Gabriel eyed his handiwork, then sunk back into Sam’s comforting hands. His eyes drifted shut. The angel almost believed he'd fallen unconsciousness until his lips begun to move.

 

“I should be dead," he quietly mumbled.

 

“Not necessarily. Maybe destroying the hex bag reversed the effects,” Sam offered.

 

“That’s not what I meant."

 

                Sam never got to form a reply. There was a shift of movement in the doorway. His eyes strayed to the doorway, where Dean stood. The elder angel looked between the two of them, realization striking him. It was followed by a sinking sensation that perhaps what Gabriel had done to Sam couldn't be undone. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

                It wasn’t that Castiel wanted to do it. He simply felt obligated to do so.

 

                Perhaps the younger Novak hadn’t forced Gabriel into wheeling and dealing with demons, but he was the reason it had happened. His brother had somehow started the apocalypse in Hell. So, really, the whole thing was his fault. Everything was indirectly his fault, so it fell to him to be the one to stop it.

 

                That was why Castiel felt obligated to stop it.

 

               Ruby had somehow caught wind of Samhain's summoning. So when she’d called him, it didn’t take much convincing on her part to arrange a meeting between the two of them.

 

               He still found himself wishing that Gabriel had refused to let him wander off alone. The elder Novak had been too distracted to properly think it through. That was likely the reason for letting his brother slip away, rather than some semblance of trust. If he’d had some excuse so why he couldn’t meet the demon, maybe he wouldn’t be there. But luck hadn’t been in favor and Gabriel had absentmindedly nodded in agreement. There was only so long he could put off meeting Ruby again, anyways.

 

               So Castiel found himself in a decrepit parking lot behind an abandoned Tesco waiting for her to arrive. He stood there for a few minutes, awkwardly shuffling his feet. He was on the brink of calling her when her voice rung out from behind.

 

“Didn’t think you’d show.”

 

“I don’t have time for pleasantries,” Castiel drily replied.

 

                Castiel turned around to see Ruby leaning against a wall, arms crossed.

 

“You’re too busy with your boyfriend nowadays to make time for me, huh?”

 

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Castiel protested.

 

                Ruby snorted and rolled her eyes. She pushed off the wall and slowly stalked towards him. Her eyes scoured him. She clearly didn’t like what she saw, because she paused in front of him and jabbed his chest with an accusatory finger.

 

“You’re out of practice.”

 

“Noted,” he wryly responded.

 

"This is serious!"

 

"As am I."

 

               Ruby sent him a harsh glare. Were Castiel not accustomed to such behavior from her, he might've cringed. She could be quite intimidating, even though he had plenty of advantages over her.

 

 “Do you honestly think you can take on Samhain right now? Forget about Lilith!” the demon exclaimed.

 

                Castiel didn’t answer.

 

“Quit eloping, Cas! Lilith’s starting the freaking apocalypse! You’re the only one who can stop her, if you haven't noticed! Hasn’t it been drilled into your skull already?”

 

                He still had no answer for her, to Ruby’s increasing annoyance.

 

“You can’t have it all. You and Lilith are going to have a confrontation. Soon. If you aren’t ready when the time comes, she’s going to win,” the demon snapped.

 

“I’m aware. Why else would I be here?” Castiel retorted.

 

“Because I’m delightful. It’s a shame Prince Charming stole you away,” she wryly replied without a missed beat.

 

                The hunter sent her a look that informed her humor was going woefully unappreciated. She sized him up another moment, then extended her hand. Castiel returned her knife, to which she sliced her arm.

 

                Castiel watched, trying in vain to squelch the anticipation that rushed through him. He could practically taste the power that downing the blood would bring him. And with it, the feeling that would come when he struck down anything that attacked him. He would strike down anything that posed a threat to him without batting an eye. When the human realized the way his fingers eagerly drummed against his thighs, he tried to make himself shudder with revulsion. He failed.

 

                She accepted the flask he handed her. Castiel looked off in the distance as she filled it, trying to ignore the impatience within him. He still failed. 

 

“Cas? You here?” a voice called out from nearby.

 

                Castiel didn’t have time to hide, just like Ruby didn’t have time to vanish.

 

               Sam rounded the corner before anything could be done. His steps faltered as he caught sight of Ruby. Confusion flickered across his face. Then, his eyes traveled to the flask and the blood still trickling into it. The angel stopped in his tracks. Horror won out over confusion, blatantly displayed across his face.

 

“I don’t understand,” was the first thing out of his mouth.

 

                Castiel couldn’t pick out what word best described the whirlwind of emotions that crossed the angel’s face. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know what the angel was thinking. Neither of them raced to explain themselves.

 

“Does Gabriel know?” Sam eventually managed to sputter out.

 

                The hunter only managed to shake his head, sending the taller man a pleading look. The angel seemed torn. Castiel almost started to try to reason with him- until he noticed the smudge of blood on his face. Worry flushed through the human. 

 

“Is everything alright?” the younger Novak questioned the angel.

 

“Cas...” Ruby whispered in a low voice, eyes uncharacteristically wide with fear.

 

                Sam was unable to answer. Castiel was too focused on him to notice the change in Ruby's demeanour.

 

“Sam?” the younger Novak asked, trying to prompt him into speaking.

 

               He tried to take step towards the the taller man. Ruby's arm shot out to grip his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

 

“Cas, he’s not human!” Ruby hissed in his ear after yanking him away. 

 

                Castiel spun on her to demand an explanation. He hadn't gotten out a word when there was a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. But when the younger Novak turned around, there was only air where Sam had been. The human was on the brink of hurrying to examine the area where the angel had stood, but Ruby caught his arm.

 

“I need to go,” the demon informed him, panicked.

 

“What’s going on?!” Castiel hissed.

 

“That’s an angel, moron!”

 

                The hunter recoiled after a pause. He squinted at her. As much as he tried, Castiel couldn't make sense of those words. Had he misheard?

 

“There have been rumors. Beings fighting against Lilith. The kind that can wipe out a hoard of demons in a blink. Angels. I didn’t know if they were true.” Ruby hurriedly explained, eyes darting around.

 

“Why would you not inform me of this?” Castiel snapped.

 

“Well, excuse me! You haven’t been eager to hang around with me lately. Besides, it’s not like I’m friendly with demons nowadays! My sources aren't exactly credible. I’m just trying to stay alive like you!” Ruby replied, every bit as testily.

 

                Castiel’s head felt like it was spinning. Angels. The thought was so foreign to him now that he was unsure how to feel about it. The existence of omniscient celestial beings rarely crossed his mind anymore. 

 

“Gabriel- do you believe an angel rose him?” the hunter inquired after he gathered himself.

 

“I don’t know! Probably. My kind and angels aren’t chummy if you haven’t noticed!”

 

                The demon yanked away from Castiel’s grasp, handing him back the flask.

 

“I need to go. I doubt they’ll play nice with me,” Ruby repeated.

 

               Castiel's mind was flooded with questions. When he couldn't think of a question who answer wouldn't confuse him further, he asked the simplest thing he could think of.

 

“When will I see you again?”

 

                Ruby gave him a strange look. It morphed into satisfaction before long. Castiel didn't quite notice.

 

“I’ll keep in touch.”

 

                Then Castiel was alone. He yanked out his phone to call Gabriel. The younger Novak was met with his brother’s voicemail. He really needed to beat Sam to speak with his brother. The hunter hissed a curse, pocketed the flask, then dashed off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                When Sam rematerialized, Dean knew a mistake had been made in letting the younger angel seek out Castiel. His brother was deeply distraught. It was blatantly evident. Gabriel was sleeping off his trauma. Dean still felt it would be wise to take the oncoming storm elsewhere so as to not wake the elder Novak. The older angel stepped outside. Sam seemed to have different plans, because he snagged his brother’s shoulder and zapped them somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

 

                The two brothers eyed each other, silently daring the other to speak first. Sam was the one to break the silence. The disappointment in his words was nearly palpable.

 

“You knew, didn’t you?”

 

                When Dean didn't instantly deny him, Sam knew the answer. His brother opened his mouth to defend himself shortly after. The younger angel cut him off.

 

“No.”

                That was it. A single, resolute word. The older angel grimaced, trying to figure out what exactly Sam meant by that.

 

“Listen to me for once. I’m done, Dean. I don't want to listen to the same speech about loyalty and faith again. I don't really want to listen to anything you have to say right now. You- out of everyone- have to know this isn’t God anymore. I’m not going to stand for this.”

 

                Dean narrowed his eyes. Silence blanketed the duo, settling thick and heavy over them. The air between them seemed to simmer. Sam wordlessly willed his brother to understand in the quiet. He was met with an outraged look of betrayal, which mirrored what Dean was feeling.

 

“What? You’ll abandon your own family for a pair of freaking humans you hardly know?!”

 

“Yeah- I will,” Sam confidently retorted.

 

                Dean slugged his brother, sending a fist straight into his jaw. Sam hardly blinked, stumbling back a single step. The elder angel didn’t feel any better. Especially not after the look of confusion thrown his way.

 

“Dean, I don’t know who’s in charge anymore. I can’t keep following orders from some enigma like some mindless soldier. I can feel it. This is wrong. It isn’t going to end well for us- or for anyone! Least of all for the Novaks!”

 

“Sammy, you don’t see the bigger picture,” Dean said in a low warning, shaking his head.

 

“God commanded that we love humans more than anything. That’s all I know for certain. Those are God’s orders. I can see the bigger picture, but damn me if I'm going to forget the smaller pieces in the process! So you can damn well bet that I’ll protect them.”

 

“This isn’t just about what’s right and what’s wrong! It’s about who we can save and who we can’t!” Dean shouted.

 

                Sam glared at his brother. The elder angel had taken on his tone of superiority. They were practically shouting in each other’s face now, all regard for personal space thrown to the wind. Dean had a desperate sound to his words. Sam saw them for what they truly were- a last ditch effort to convince him to stay.

 

                The younger angel knew that there was nothing that could convince him anymore. For the first time, all traces of doubt had left his chest. Fear had floated away, replaced by conviction. The nagging in his gut since the first seal had been broken finally seemed to make sense. The angels were willing to give away seals. Like the seal of Samhain, one that Sam was certain the Novaks could stop if they were given the chance. 

 

                If the angels truly wanted to be winning, they would’ve placed all their manpower onto Earth. His brother just shook his head, interrupting him before he could put the thought into words.

 

“They’ll try to kill you, Sammy.”

 

“They already try to do that,” the younger angel wryly replied.

 

“You know what? If you wanna spend the rest of your life being hunted, then go ahead. But I’m not joining you. I'm not letting them hunt me like some friggin’ animal!"

 

"I'm not defenseless, Dean! I can defend myself!"

 

"Maybe against a couple. But your luck's going to run out. What happens then?"

 

               Sam had considered that possiblity.

 

"Sammy, I can't wait around to hear if they've finally killed you. I'm not going to wait around until I get the call that some angel's finally stabbed you and you're dead somewhere in a ditch. I can't handle hearing that. If you go right now, we're done. If you leave, don't you dare come back!" Dean shouted. The words spewed like acid, hurting him just as much as his target. He had to say them, though. Had to. 

 

                Admittedly, those words stung. Sam did his best not to show it. When he eventually replied, the younger angel was eerily quiet.

 

“You know I’m right. You care about them, especially Castiel.”

 

“No. I don’t,” Dean vehemently denied.

 

                Sam gave him a doubtful look.

 

“Then why’d you kiss him?”

 

                And when his brother could form no reply, Sam turned on his heels. Dean didn't make an effort to stop him. It hurt more than anything he could've said. So Sam clenched his jaw and zapped himself away, willing himself not to look back.

 

                Dean watched his brother disappear. His stomach churned, a knot forming in his throat that he couldn't quite swallow. The angel tried to figure out how he could explain what had just happened. He could hardly process it himself- how the hell would angels who'd always had it out for him and his brother take to it? Uncertainty filled his gut. He could take most of the fall for his brother if he stayed with the angels. Although he wasn't very popular among them. Dean doubted that they would merciful towards him. Sam had always been his responsibility. And now that Sam had gone rogue, Dean was subject to full reprogramming by the angels. He was certain they'd been looking for an excuse to do so. Courtesy of Sam's departure, they now had one. Dean almost wished he'd told Sam that his actions would affect both of them. He was the older brother. He couldn't be afraid, let alone in front of Sam.

 

                Dean himself couldn't look after Sam anymore, but perhaps he could mislead the angels. Or at least give Sam fair warning if they caught scent of his trail. That was why he'd chosen to stay. In no way was he too weak to stand up for himself, to think for himself instead of brainlessly accepting the orders given to him. If Dean retained enough of himself after the angels were through with him, he could continue to keep watch over Sam. It would be better this way. Sure, he'd probably lose any compassion he'd gained for the Novaks after his reprogramming was through, but maybe he could hold onto his protective nature over Sam. This was the best course of action. Someone had to keep an eye on things in Heaven so that the other could successfully jailbreak. He had to do this- for Sam. No matter what he wanted for himself- Sam came first.

 

                Dean found that none of that was very comforting. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot damn! Here's a fast-paced chapter where all the balls start rolling. If I need to slow it down some, just tell me. A lot happened, so if a break scene is needed, I can put one in to lighten things up a bit. But, yeah. Sam's storm of rebellion came to a head, Dean's brotherly nature kicked in, Gabriel nearly died, and Castiel is conflicted. This is setting up a lot of future plot lines, so if you have any suggestions, now's going to be one of the last times I'll be able to try to incorporate them in. This chapter was supposed to be up earlier, but AO3 deleted about 2000 words that I had to rewrite. Sorry about that! As always, comment your criticism (or support, because that stuff is like an addictive drug). 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally published- but I've fixed it up enough for now.  
> Sam reveals the truth.

**Chapter 14**

 

 

As much as he wanted to, Sam did not burst back into the motel room to dramatically declare who he actually was. He crept back into the room, expecting to find Gabriel still curled up and sleeping on the bed. Apparently at some point the human had awakened to find himself coated in drying blood, alone. That was what Sam assumed, because when he quietly padded inside, he found Gabriel sauntering out of the shower.

 

               His hair was ruffled every which way, water still dripping from him. To top it off, Gabriel was nearly undressed. Other than the towel hanging low on his hips, his skin was uncovered. It took him a moment to notice Sam, who was currently trying to process the image before him. Gabriel didn't fail to catch his gaze and smirked.

 

               Sam was pretty sure he said something, since his lips seemed to be moving. The blood rushing to his face muffled out the sound. Then Gabriel was sending him a strange look. He was aware he should probably reply.

 

"I'm an angel," Sam blurted out. 

 

               Sam paused to think over his words. He flinched. The angel was struck with urge to bang his head against a wall. All the mental confessions he'd rehearsed had gone much smoother than that. The fragments of emotion he'd experienced lately hadn't been quite as intense as the embarrassment that swept through him. The emotion was better than nothing at all, but he didn't like the shade of red his face was taking on.

 

               Gabriel blinked. He squinted at Sam for a second, then laughed and shook his head.

 

"Are you trying some kind of reverse pickup line? Because that's not how they work," he retorted.

 

               Sam stuttered out a few nonsensical syllables. In addition to everything else, Gabriel's lack of clothing wasn't exactly helping him. The angel averted his gaze to a wall, studying it as if it had become the most fascinating thing on Earth.  He swallowed. 

 

"I mean that literally. I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. I'm an angel sent from Heaven to stop the Apocalpyse," Sam spoke.

 

               Gabriel seemed to catch the seriousness in his tone. He laughed again, but it was less out of amusement. Were Castiel there, he would've identified it as the awkward laugh Gabriel gave when he was trying to escape a situation.

 

"You mean... like those long haired dudes you talked about in that church? That kind of angel?"

 

"Yes."

 

               The human was scrutinizing him with something approaching concern now. 

 

"Are you... alright? Hunting's a stressful job. If you're... y'know, _on something_... I can try to help you work through it." 

 

"I'm not an hunter. I'm an angel," Sam countered. 

 

               Gabriel didn't even bother to hide the dubiousness he felt. Seriously, what sort of hallucinatory thing was Sam on? This sort of heart-to-heart thing was up Castiel's alley, not his. Sam was currently wondering how many times he'd have to repeat the same phrase before Gabriel grasped it. 

 

               Both were thankful for the break in the silence when Castiel burst into the room. The younger Novak laid his eyes on Sam, stopping in the doorway. His gaze lingered somewhere between reverence, fear, and disbelief.

 

"Gabriel, may we talk?" Castiel asked, eyes never once leaving Sam.

 

"Jesus _Christ_. Are you going to tell me that Sam is an angel too?" the elder Novak snapped.

 

               Castiel's eyes darted uncertainty between the two while he tried to deduce what was happening. His gaze eventually settled onto Gabriel. He nearly spoke, but then thought better of it and just gave a tight nod. 

 

"Are you high?" the elder Novak incredulously retorted. 

 

               Gabriel studied his brother. There weren't any visible symptoms to support his theory. Of course. He muttered a curse. That crossed out the only rational explanation for their claims. Neither the angel or his brother provided an answer, so Gabriel continued to grill them.

 

"Has everyone collectively lost their minds?!"

 

               In another situation, the glance which Castiel and Sam shared might've been comical. But with Gabriel wordlessly demanding an explanation for their sudden insanity as he looked between them and his increasingly concerned shouting, it wasn't so funny. 

 

"Fuck. Where's Dean? Has he joined the rally, too?"

 

"Dean and I aren't really friendly right now," Sam muttered in reply.

 

               Gabriel nearly went to take a swig out of his flask. He stopped short when he remembered what had happened last time. His better judgement and his sanity briefly battled for control. He eventually- and begrudgingly- pocketed it once more. But he really needed some liquor. 

 

"I'm sorry, but I'm not buying into this," Gabriel eventually declared.

 

               The lights flickered off in response. Then, a vicious crack of thunder from outside after a flash of lightning shooting through the suddenly dark room. Gabriel barely had time to furrow his brow in confusion- there definitely hadn't been storm clouds last time he'd looked outside. The elder Novak didn't have time to question it. Another round of lightning illuminated the room. This time, they highlighted shadows.

 

               Gabriel gaped as behind Sam, two elegant structures contrasted sharply with the bright light. Their length spread across the entire length of the room- and Gabriel wasn't entirely sure they were completely extended. Something... feathers? Something branched off from the main structures as they unfurled, stretching from Sam. Only one word popped into his head to describe the apparitions. Wings. _Freaking angel wings._

 

               Gabriel felt stupid thinking it, but he could _feel_ the power radiating from Sam. It made him feel rather insignificant, powerless. Like an ant watching a boot looming overhead. When he remembered that he was almost certainly standing before what was  _an angel_ _,_  he realized that he was both of those things. Couldn't an angel reduce him to ashes with a glance or something? Not to mention that Gabriel doubted his Smith and Wesson was going to give Sam so much as a scratch. If Sam wanted to kill them, they were pretty much as his mercy. So maybe he ought to tread carefully.

 

               The lightening ceased after several seconds. The lights simultaneously flickered back on. Now that Sam could see the brothers properly, Castiel seemed to be looking at him in awe. Gabriel seemed to fall somewhere between... everything. It sent a pang of something unpleasant hurling through him. He recognized that look. it was the exact same look Sam had received the first time he'd shown Gabriel his wings. Ironically enough, that trick had been how he'd convinced Gabriel the first time. He had to start over. Go through the same distrust he'd faced the first time. Sam tried to take an optimistic outlook. Maybe Gabriel would come around sooner this time.

 

               Sam wanted to stay longer. He was certain that the fluctuations in grace hadn't gone unnoticed. That was confirmed when he felt Uriel barreling straight towards them. He couldn't sense Dean- but maybe that was for the better. 

 

"I need to go," Sam brusquely said, snapping both of them from their hazes.

 

"What? Why? You can't just come out with something like that, then saunter out!" Gabriel snapped.

 

"I rebelled."

 

"Great," Gabriel sarcastically drawled, "Want to explain what the hell is that means?"

 

"It means I'm not on their side anymore."

 

"Then whose damned side are you on?!" 

 

"Yours."

 

               Sam's response practically dripped with sincerity, accompanied with an equally convincing stare. Gabriel, against his better judgement, wanted to believe him. The elder Novak was hardly done with his interrogation, but Sam had vanished before he had the opportunity to get out so much as another word. He hissed a curse.

 

"A decent goodbye might be nice!" he snapped.

 

               Gabriel stood there, waiting to see if the angel would reappear. If Sam had heard him, he didn't get any acknowledgement.

 

"Cas, call Bobby. Tell him to dig up all the angel lore he can."

 

               Castiel watched as his brother stormed into the bathroom, leaving a trail of creative curses in his wake. He was still standing there several minutes later. It was one thing for a demon to claim there were angels. To see one, to know one, was something entirely different. And not just one. Two. Two goddamned angels.

 

               If he hadn't seen Sam's wings himself, he probably wouldn't have believed it. For God's sake, Dean had choked on powdered sugar donuts. How was that holy? How could someone who seemed so... human be something entirely inhuman something pure and absolute?

 

               Something with seemingly unlimited power? What sort of things could something like that do? It slowly occurred to him that entering the unconscious human mind would be well within their range of ability.

 

               With a flinch, his strange dreams made sense. _Oh God_. He'd admitted to an angel that he drank demon blood. Castiel was certain that if an angel called him an abomination, it would be considered an understatement. He was an aberration, a horrible excuse for a person. Even worse- Sam knew, too.

 

               His heart sunk deep within his chest. Castiel almost expected Gabriel to leap out of the bathroom to confront him in a shouting match right then. And when he didn't, he slowly came to the conclusion that perhaps Sam hadn't told his brother. Yet. Was Sam testing him? Giving him a chance to come clean to his brother himself before there was some sort of divine demon blood intervention?

 

               The flask weighed heavily in his trench coat pocket. He absentmindedly ran his fingers across the cool metal. What would happen if he drank it now? Would the angels stop him? Did they ever care in the first place? Dean seemed to have known for a while. Yet he'd never said a word.

 

               Then, another idea slowly formed in his head.

 

               With the arrival of angels, he wouldn't have to be the one to defeat Lilith. They could step in at last. He'd be relieved of his extracurricular duties while they took care of Lilith for him. The mere thought lifted what felt like the weight of the world from his shoulders. He carefully considered the idea. Maybe that was why the angels had appeared. To tell him that he'd done enough and that it was time for them to take charge.

 

               He wanted to find Sam to confirm his theory. Unfortunately, the angel was nowhere to be found and his number went to voicemail. His brother seemed just as absent. 

 

               Where was Dean, anyway? Sam had said something about them not being on good terms. Castiel had been too distracted in the moment to investigate whatever that meant. Maybe it had something to do with Sam rebelling, whatever that was. What had Sam meant with half the stuff he'd said, anyways? It was like he'd partially been speaking in some foreign language.

 

               Maybe Bobby would know.

 

               Remembering what Gabriel had tasked him with, Castiel stepped outside. He was met with voicemail the first time. Almost certain that Bobby would probably have no reason to have ventured out of his home, Castiel tried once more. On the third ring, the older hunter answered.

 

"Whaddya want?" came the gruff greeting.

 

"Hello, Bobby. It's Castiel."

 

               Static crackled through the phone. It was followed by the recognizable sound of old paper rustling before Bobby answered, adopting a warmer tone.

 

"Good to hear from ya, Cas. Are you boys still going after that demon?"

 

"Yes," Castiel tentatively replied.

 

                Bobby sensed the hesitation in his voice. He sighed, already regretting whatever the answer was going to be to his question.

 

"And? How's it goin'?" 

 

"We are having a moderate degree of success in tracking down the demon."

 

                 Castiel trailed off after that, which raised red flags.

 

"What else? Spit it out, boy!" the older hunter snapped.

 

"There's been another supernatural interference," Castiel carefully replied.

 

"And do you have any damned idea what it might be?"

 

"Angels."

 

"Are you drunk, boy?" Bobby incredulously retorted.

 

"No," Castiel evenly answered.

 

"Then why the hell are you jabbering about angels?"

 

"We saw one. Gabriel instructed me to call you to discover what you can angel lore." 

 

"Is Gabriel around?" Bobby questioned.

 

               Castiel glanced back to the motel where Gabriel was having his existential crisis. Or something. Bobby would have to wait to hear his brother to second his story.

 

"No."

 

               Bobby mumbled a curse, then decided to humor Castiel. He could be set straight later on, once he detoxified from whatever was in his system. 

 

"Does this damned angel of yours have a name?"

 

"There are two. Samuel and Dean."

 

"Dean," Bobby snorted, "As in the archangel?"

 

               Castiel hissed a rough curse. Oh. That hadn't occurred to him. A vague recollection of the name surfaced. What was Dean the archangel of, again? Some sort of special messenger? It had been too long since he'd just paged through a Bible. Maybe with the return of the angels, it was time to pick the Holy book back up. 

 

"You alright, boy?" 

 

               Castiel snapped back to attention as the older hunter's surly voice crackled through his phone.

 

"Yes. I'm alright. Would you look into this for us?" the younger Novak quickly replied. 

 

"Fine. You idjits keep me updated. I'll call back when I have somethin'. Don't get yourselves killed."

 

"I will make a conscious effort to stay living. Thank you, Bobby."

 

"Don't mention it."

 

               The line clicked as the older hunter hung up, shaking his head in dismay. 

 

                Castiel pocketed his phone once more. His fingers brushed against the metal of the flask while he did so. Thinking back to his theory, he removed the container. After a silent debate, he uncorked the top and poured the liquid down the sewer grate. As Castiel walked back inside, the world felt like it had formed anew around him. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Gabriel closed the bathroom door with a bit more force than what was necessary. It felt warranted, though. Freaking angels. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It didn't make him any less angry. Or apprehensive, for that matter. Angels were so high above their pay grade. Gabriel couldn't help but to feel angry. Of course, it had to be them they were interested in. 

 

                 He'd gotten through his entire life with angels as a myth his brother depended on to get a few hours of undistrubed sleep. Angels were as real as the Easter Bunny- hell, they served basically the same purpose. A fairytale to brighten an otherwise grim life. Where had Castiel's angels been their entire damned lives? Why did they care so much about his family? What mattered so much about his broken, dysfunctional family that had prompted them to go undercover to befriend them? 

 

               Why would they send one of their own to save him, of all people, to drag him from Hell? 

 

               They had to want something. That was the only logicial solution. It sent rage ripping through him to think that maybe the angels had watched them suffer their entire lives to only decide to interfere now. End of the world or not. They had sacrificed enough to deserve more than that. 

 

               And why did Sam have to be one of them? 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to publish this, but I don't know how to hide it again. So this might be short. And poorly edited. I'll come back to it later, so you might want to save it until tomorrow. Either way, it's here to stay now. Oops. Unless I figure out how to take it back down.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xoxo


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Novaks meet Uriel and Dean realizes he's dead.

**Chapter 15**

 

 

               Castiel hustled back inside as the telltale sound of gunfire disturbed the quiet of the afternoon. Inside, his brother brandished his gun. The source of his hostility was an icy well-dressed man. The man, despite the bullet hole ripped into his chest, looked utterly unimpressed and annoyed with both of them. Castiel mirrored Gabriel and drew his own weapon, although he doubted it could do much. The stranger looked just as unimpressed, bored, even. With a flick of his hand, both of their firearms were thrown across the room. Gabriel startled, edging a step backwards. He scrutinized the man a moment longer, then groaned with realization.

 

"Christ, you're another one of those winged dicks, aren't you?" he snapped.

 

"The term you're looking for is _angels_. I am Uriel," the man icily replied.

 

"Great. Good for you. Where's Sam?" Gabriel replied. "And Dean?" he added as an afterthought with a glance to his brother. 

 

               Uriel's icy demeanor only intensified, his stern glare sharpening.

 

"Dean is currently preoccupied," he coldly replied.

 

               Castiel flinched. As innocent as the words might be in another context, the dark undertone in his response was rather apparent. 

 

"With what?" the younger hunter persisted.

 

               The angel frowned at him. He seemed unused to being the one questioned, if his stare was anything to go by. Castiel refused to back down, although he was tempted to for a moment. 

 

"His priorities are being... reassessed. They'll be repaired accordingly."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Dean is misguided, though not nearly so much as his brother. He's a poor example of an angel until his... reconditioning is complete. He's being repaired."

 

                  The stranger was impatient now, speaking haughtily like one might speak to a young child. It did nothing to quell either of the Novaks defiance.

 

"There was nothing wrong with him," Castiel protested.

 

                  Uriel sneered at him. The angel couldn't bother himself enough to form a response. Castiel's heart was iced over with frost. There was no illusion in him about what was going on anymore. He imagined that calling whatever Dean was going through torture wouldn't be a stretch. The younger human found himself unable to speak at all. It felt like he'd taken a punch to the lungs, like all the air had been stolen from his body. Tendrils of fear snaked through him at Dean's expense. 

 

"And Sam?" Gabriel persisted.

 

"Samuel has broken off his affiliation with the Host of Heaven."

 

"Yeah, I keep hearing that. I get that being cryptic and mysteriously vague runs in your family or whatever, but can someone explain to me what that hell that actually means?" he snapped.

 

               The angel studied Gabriel in a way that would've made a weaker man shudder and fall to his knees. He barely managed to hold the stare. It was even harder to withhold his flinch at the voice Uriel spoke with next. 

 

"By feeding his disillusionment, you've coaxed him into ignoring his God-given duties and rebelling against his family for the sake of a two... mud-monkeys."

 

               Castiel jerked back in alarm, but it was nothing compared to the look and that Gabriel wore. 

 

 "What?" the elder Novak snarled. 

 

               Uriel sneered him, turning back from face the wall. Castiel aimed Gabriel a pointed look, afraid that his brother might launch himself at the angel. It'd only be a move Gabriel would be sure to regret later. In all honesty, Castiel was uncertain of the being before him. Angels weren't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be righteous, not torturers of their own brethren. Granted, the other angels hadn't exactly been what he'd expected them to be, either. At least they'd been capable of displaying emotion. Uriel had only worn a hard mask devoid of all feeling other than contempt thus far. When the angel spoke again, his tone was enveloped in ice. 

 

"I'm afraid I don't have time for pleasantries. Moving on- you've failed to kill the witch. You're going to leave this town immediately."

 

"Why? Can you find her?" Gabriel doubtfully asked, anger searing just below the surface.

 

"No."

 

"Then what are you doing here?" 

 

"The Rising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals. While Samuel and Dean were originally tasked with helping you, they've proven themselves incapable fulfill their duties. With both of your failures, I was called in. I'm a... specialist, you might say, in such matters. I'm here to... purify the town."

 

               Castiel and Gabriel shared a troubled look. Neither was sure what "purification" was, but it sounded ominous. 

 

"Can we get some clarification for once?" Gabriel snapped, putting on a sugar-coated smile.

 

                   Uriel slowly turned around, stepping closer to the older hunter. It was impossible to miss how imposing he was, drawn up tightly with a puffed chest. It went without mentioning that he was countless inches taller. Gabriel was long since used to looking up to people, but the angel completely towered over him. 

 

"Watch your tone," Uriel dangerously reprimanded him.

 

                The elder Novak and the angel shared a chilling glare. It that could've disintegrated lesser men, but Gabriel was no such man. Castiel nervously glanced between the two of them. The younger Novak waited for either Gabriel's anger to completely ignite, resulting in another bullet lodged within the angel or for the angel to smite Gabriel where he stood. Castiel's unease never waned, even when Uriel broke his staring match with Gabriel. The angel turned away and peered thoughtfully out the window once more. When Uriel replied, only another layer was added to the cold atmosphere of the room.

 

"I'm here to destroy the town."

 

                  The simple nonchalance Uriel's voice only fanned Gabriel's anger further. The elder hunter paused. He waited to see if Uriel would break out with a smile, apologize, only to explain what the hell was going on. Maybe even to suggest a viable course of action while he was at it. Of course, that would've been far too easy. They silently faced off. Castiel was still uneasily aware of the tension that seemed to literally be crackling in the air- seriously, was Uriel emitting electricity or something? The silence stretched on an for what felt like an eternity, then maybe a few more. It was only broken by Gabriel, who spoke sharply with a mix of arrogance, bravery, and plain stubbornness. 

 

"Yeah. Good luck with that. You'll have to drag us out, because we aren't letting you destroy this place."

 

"That can be arranged."

 

                Gabriel startled. He hadn't been expecting much resistance.

 

                Castiel could relate to his brother to some extent, though likely for a different reason. There was something brewing inside of him. Doubt? Whatever it was, it weighed down his gut and tightened his throat, sending his stomach churning with unease. Was Dean the same as the angel before him? How much had been an act? Was anything they'd heard from the two angels legitimate or was it just some elaborate scheme?

 

"What do you mean?" Gabriel growled. 

 

"The Host of Heaven has differing opinions on how to manage you." 

 

                Like almost everything else Uriel had said, sinister implications hung over his words.

 

"So with Dean on the sidelines for reevaluation and Sam out of the picture entirely, Heaven's views towards you are skewing rather negatively."

 

"So, what? You're going to nuke a town because you've got complaints with how we handle things? Gotta say, seems a little bit like overkill to me. Sounds like you guys are compensating for something," Gabriel retorted.

 

            Neither stood down. The older human forced that same sugary smile onto his face, met with stony and poorly concealed scorn.

 

"And what would you suggest we do? You've tried, you've failed. This is a Seal that neither side can afford to lose."

 

"You know what? I don't know. But I'm sure as hell not going to stand by while you waste a whole damn town full of people. Doesn't sound very holy or just or whatever to me."

 

"You be willing to risk the entire world just to prove your point? Should Lucifer rise, this entire town will become nothing than a pile of ashes. I fail to see the difference of whether it's destroyed now or later. These are our orders and I intend to follow them."

 

"Sucks for you that you'll have to kill me to get me to leave. I've got to be worth something to have been dragged from Hell, right? So you can kiss my ass if you think you'll get me out of here."

 

               Castiel had braced himself to absorb a painful death from the grace of a raging angel. Instead, there was the brief noise of fluttering wings. Then, Uriel vanished before them in a blink. The two brothers were left alone in heavy silence. Gabriel directed a spree of curses towards the space Uriel had once occupied, then turned to Castiel.

 

"Looks like we're going to need to move fast if we have any chance at ganking this bitch. Be outside in five."

 

                Gabriel breezed by, leaving Castiel as the sole occupant of the motel room. The hunter stood there a moment. He registered just how drained he was. Castiel wearily blinked. Even considering his fatigue, he felt strangely weak. His eyes rung from some invisible sound. The hunter moved to cover them. It didn't do anything to muffle the oncoming storm of noise. Distantly, he could make out the wild crackling of static, like feedback from the radio.

 

               The world begun to spin madly around him shortly after. His gaze locked onto the mirror attached to the ceiling. Castiel was spinning wildly now, like he was on some sort of twisted inescapable carousel. His vision was blurred, shaking like the world around him. The static had risen to a deafening roar, yet it only seemed to get increasingly louder. It was only when he met his own eyes in the mirror that his dazed mind registered the magnitude of danger he was probably in.

 

"Gabriel!" he weakly groaned.

 

                His legs were exhausted. They burned and buckled with the strain of holding him up. His legs trembled beneath his weight until they crumpled out from beneath him. Castiel was too fatigued to lift himself off the floor. He allowed his head to drift onto the stained carpet of the motel room, his gun uselessly discarded beside him. Was he really going to die like this? Was his last sight going to be the suspicious stains on the frayed carpet of... where was he, again? He couldn't quite register any coherent thoughts in his mind by that point. There was just white. Even when his eyes closed, it was all... just... white.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

               Gabriel impatiently groaned in the front seat of the Impala. He knew Castiel liked to pamper himself, but Christ- his brother was taking his sweet time. It was time they couldn't afford to lose, not with Uriel's imaginary countdown clock ticking. And it certainly didn't seem like the newcomer angel was very pleased with them. Gabriel was in no rush to push their luck. There was an entire town of people at stake, here. After ten minutes had painstakingly dredged by, the older hunter had the distinct feeling something was wrong. He slipped quietly out of his car, edging towards the door. It was still propped slightly open. No sounds came from inside. 

 

               The elder Novak couldn't make out anything through the thin crack of the doorway. He paused a moment longer, but all was still silent. Something was definitely wrong. Gabriel didn't hesitate after that to sling the door open. He burst into the room with his Smith and Wesson already drawn. At first, the hunter thought the room was simply empty. And then his eyes landed upon the leg poking into view from behind the bed.

 

"Cas?" Gabriel shouted.

 

               He rounded the corner as quickly as possible. His brother laid there, motionless with an expressionless face and partially closed blank eyes. The older hunter dropped to his knees. Gabriel found that Castiel was perfectly alive, just unconscious. It was only after that when he concluded his unresponsive brother was in some trance-like slumber. Only when he realized he had utterly no way to awaken him did fear clutch his heart. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

               Castiel was not falling, nor standing, or floating in the pure light. His mind slowly regained awareness. His thoughts turned from plain words into complete sentences. His first complete thought was, "Where the hell am I?"

 

              Apparently he'd said it out loud. He wasn't sure. Maybe thoughts echoed like a voice throughout... wherever the fuck he was. No matter how he'd been heard, a reply nonetheless rung out clearly from behind him.

 

"That depends. Where do you want to be?"

 

              Castiel didn't have to turn around to know the owner of the voice was Dean. So he didn't. Facing an archangel who he'd stupidly KISSED, goddammit... It just seemed like a poor choice. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten his ass smited by now.

 

"The motel was suiting me just fine," the hunter uneasily replied.

 

"Oh, c'mon! You can go anywhere, anyplace, anytime. And you choose to go back to that dump? Pick someplace you actually want to be." 

 

"I'd like to return to reality. It suits me better than a magician's illusion of it. But it looks like neither of us is going to get our way."

 

"Fine. I'll choose."

 

               There was a snap of fingers and a city sprouted from nothing. Buildings rose from the ethereal light, cobblestones falling by themselves into place to create streets. People formed from air, color filling the void of white nearly instantaneously. Castiel swiftly became aware of his change in clothing. Cool breeze brushed over his exposed arms and legs. In the place of his familiar trench coat and dress clothing were the loose folds of a white toga. A quick glance around the street confirmed his attire was the norm of the populace. Off to the distance, a massive mountain towered over the city. Castiel couldn't even process the change to his surroundings when Dean spoke out. Castiel whirled to face him, met with Dean appreciatively eyeing Castiel and his change of outfit. 

 

"You shouldn't dress conservatively all the time. You've got nice legs, you know. Not that you can tell under all that stiff formality."

 

                   If Dean were any other person, Castiel would've thought he sounded outright flirtatious. Especially when his voice was partnered with that smirk. But this wasn't any random person. This was an _archangel_ who'd just happened to need to get close to him for whatever reason. Furthermore, it was an _archangel_ who shoved him away when Castiel had kissed him. That didn't seem like a good topic of conversation, so the hunter stayed silent. The last thing he needed to do was misread the situation- _again_ \- and end up as a pile of ash (he still barely managed to pull his gaze off Dean, who had changed into a toga as well- the archangel looked even better when he wasn't buried in five layers of flannel). It didn't help when Dean's imaginary people all started blatantly checking him out.

 

"So, how was your trip? Hopefully the ride wasn't too bumpy. Can I get you anything? Some airplane pretzels, maybe?"

 

               Castiel glared at him.

 

"Oh. That's right. You don't like planes," Dean bemusedly recalled.

 

"You're thinking of Gabriel," Castiel corrected him, only to be answered with a smirk like the archangel knew something he didn't. 

 

               Dean begun to walk down the street. Castiel was left with no choice but to follow him through the bustling crowd. Merchants had set up shop along the length of it, calling out to passerby in hopes of selling their goods. Castiel could taste the salt on the wind, feel the tang from the spray of the nearby ocean. He darted around the shoppers, nearly losing sight of Dean. Eventually, the hunter wove his way to the angel, who was taking a bite from some sort of exotic fruit. Dean shot him an innocent smile, tossing him the food. Castiel eyed it suspiciously in his palm. For something that had materialized from nothing, it certainly looked and felt realistic.

 

"So, how about some sightseeing? A little tourism never hurt anyone. It's not like you'll ever get a chance to see this place in its full glory again."

 

"Where exactly is... _this_?" Castiel glanced around, although he had a feeling he already knew. 

 

"This is Sparta," Dean responded, already grinning at his own joke.

 

             Castiel remained unamused. Dean sighed, his eyes dimming. His tone was flat when he spoke again. All trace of humor had been put aside.

 

"Huh. You're just all business, aren't you?" 

 

"I have no time for games, Dean."

 

               A bitter smirk tugged at the archangel's lips. He curiously studied Castiel. The hunter held his gaze with hardened eyes, never faltering. Dean eventually nodded to himself, still keeping that sour smile. All hint at jest melted from Dean's face, then. In its wake was a deathly serious expression. Castiel found he rather preferred the earlier version of Dean. This one felt unfamiliar. Eerie, even.

 

             The people froze in the streets in time with Castiel's unease, dissipating into mist and evaporating into the air. The bustle of the street was replaced by an unnatural stillness, as the scenery still remained.

 

"Fine. No more games." 

 

               Dean leaned against the wall of what seemed to be a temple. He looked incredibly tired, his carefree persona melted away. A disguise of wellbeing lifted from him moments later. Castiel saw the full extent of the reason for his weariness now. Dean was bloodied and battered. One of his eyes was swollen partially shut. His nose seemed to have been recently broken. Bruises littered his body, cuts trailing along the length of his entire limbs. Still, he had himself drawn proudly, face set straight despite the pain beneath the surface. Castiel recoiled, a thousand questions screaming in his mind.

 

"Why am I here?" Castiel questioned.

 

"Well, I trust you," Dean answered, cracking a morose grin.

 

                The archangel was met with a confused squint. Castiel simply had no idea what to make of that. It was blatantly apparent to the elder being, who sighed. Dean reconsidered his words, then amended himself.

 

"Let me correct myself. I trust you more than your brother."

 

               Castiel still remained hopelessly perplexed, so Dean elaborated even more. This time, he was straightforward.

 

"I need you to look after Sam for me."

 

"Why?"

 

"I won't be able to do it myself anymore."

 

"Yes. I grasp that concept. What I fail to understand is  _why."_

 

"He rebelled. In human terms, he cut his ties to Heaven. Gave them the finger, then split. He didn't really Fall. From what I get, it's more like he leapt. And I doubt that your brother's going to catch him when he lands," Dean snarled. 

 

               There was a brief pause. Castiel considered this, then shook his head. 

 

"I don't understand."

 

"Of course you wouldn't." Dean laughed, but there was no humor to it. "Right. Fine. Let me give you a history lesson. Father knows why, but I decided one day to take the most human angel ever to exist under my wing. Guess who that was? Well, I spent millenniums protecting him. Humanity isn't exactly a valued trait in angels, if you haven't figured it out yet. Then, one day, Sam gets the bright idea to sneak out to try to drag the Righteous Man from Hell before he breaks the first Seal. He's not gone long for us, only a couple of days. He does come back up, bloodied and more defiant than ever with your smartass brother in tow. To put it in plain terms- he rose your brother from Hell while trying to stop the Apocalypse. Didn't work, obviously."

 

               Castiel stiffened. His eyes locked onto Dean's, whose eyes were burning bright green. With what emotion, Castiel was unsure.

 

"Your brother gets a memory wipe, much to Sam's dismay. A while later, Sam and I come into play with you and Gabriel. Of course, Sam's changed since then. Bolder, snarkier, basically pulling stupid stunts that would get him killed if I weren't always vouching for him. So it's just my luck that Gabriel starts to remember his rescuer from down-under. Of course, Sam decides that he's going to blindly take a dive from Heaven for your little family. Mostly your brother." 

 

"That still doesn't answer why Sam... rebelled, as you keep putting it."

 

                Dean gave another exasperated sigh. His eyes rolled nearly to the back of his skull. The archangel crossed his arms, looking directly at Castiel when he answered with,

 

"Rebelling, in case you haven't gotten it yet, is like an angel signs a death warrant where all of Heaven's angels are clamoring to behead them and spear their heads with a stake because they struck out on their own and ignored God's will."

 

"Is Sam in danger?"

 

"Oh, he will be now. Every second, every day. He'll always have to be checking his back without a moment's rest," Dean bitterly answered.

 

"Why, then? Why would he throw his entire life away to do this?" Castiel perplexedly asked.

 

"He rebelled because he's madly in love with Gabriel Novak."

 

               The younger Novak was certain that his surprise was apparent. The hunter virtually jerked backwards. He squinted intently at the archangel in suspicion that Dean might reveal the entire thing to be a prank. He had no such luck. 

 

"I know, right? He's got poor taste. Though maybe it's just because he doesn't have any experience with humans. I've been around them long enough to know exactly how they work. I know that Gabriel's going to break my brother's heart and that there's going to be nowhere for him to go, because he's tossed it all away for one damn human. Makes me wonder what exactly happened down there. Sam wouldn't ever budge on any of it. I filled in the blanks myself. Not too hard to figure out."

 

"How?" was all the human could manage.

 

"Come on, do the math! What's only a few days to us is months down there. It's a miracle you've been too blind to not have figured it all out by now. Are you really supposed to be the smarter one?" Dean snapped.

 

               Dean regretted his words soon after. Castiel frowned, eyes darting downwards. The archangel felt like an ass. It wasn't that he was angry at Castiel. He'd be plenty happy to rip out the older Novak's lungs, but that too wasn't the real source of his anger. His real anger stemmed from what felt an awful lot like abandonment. Castiel was just an easy target at the moment. He knew that Gabriel was too, but since he could trace all problems back to the Righteous Man, he felt significantly more justified about his feelings towards him. Dean might have apologized, but his rage was bubbling too close to the surface for take back his words.

 

"Pass on a message for your brother, will you?" Dean requested with mock politeness.

 

                    The hunter reluctantly nodded. He tried to piece together the few remnants of his composure, still unable to form words.

 

                    Castiel could see it now that it had been brought to his attention. Sam looked at Gabriel in a way Castiel knew he had once looked at...- no, that wasn't relevent. Not now. The hunter shook the thought from his head before it could be finished, focusing back on Dean's words.

 

"Tell Gabriel I'm going to choke him with his own intestines."

 

                   Dean's happy nonchalance held no place in his words. Castiel found himself chuckling anyways. Not at the threat itself, rather at the unusual frequency at which that specific threat had been directed at his brother.

 

"Gabriel tends to have that effect on people."

 

                Indeed, the hunter could instantly recall hundreds of similar threats towards his brother and even several exact matches. He cracked another smile, although his words were serious when he added,

 

"As of yet, everyone has failed to follow through on their threats."

 

"Any of them ever been issued by a pissed archangel?" Dean retorted.

 

               Castiel blinked, nearly recoiling. So it was official. To hear Dean say it himself served as a final confirmation- the nail in a coffin (maybe even literally, when it was applied to Castiel). And yet, it raised plenty more questions than it answered.

 

               Somehow, all Castiel could think about was that there was a celestial being in front of him, capable of erasing every trace of his existence from the Earth- so why hadn't he? He was an abomination. A living, breathing insult to creation and all that it was supposed to stand for. How could an archangel ever have pretended to care about him? How could one not even avoid the temptation of spitting into his face and striking him down where he stood? 

 

               Dean was staring at him now, a strange look crossing his face. The anger slowly melted away, replaced by a mixture of confusion and a tinge of... sadness? Probably just exhaustion. The archangel almost seemed to deflate, like a bomb that had been disengaged. His muscles relaxed, his jaw unclenched, his eyes softened into thoughtful pools of green. His tone was still harder than stone when he spoke.  

 

"Stop," Dean ordered.

 

               It didn't sound like Dean, not this time. This time, Castiel could hear the sheer power contained behind his words. He could feel the righteous might radiating off of the archangel, capable of squashing him at any moment like the insignificant thinly-veiled monster he was. His face even looked sad for some reason, though Castiel attributed it to his weariness. Or maybe because Dean had to be here, speaking to a thing like him.

 

"Stop what?"

 

              The human was certain he hadn't spoken aloud this time. Dean shook his head. A brief look of... anger? No, that couldn't be it. A flash of something Castiel couldn't place lit the archangel's face. Dean simply shook his head, dourly chuckling to himself.

 

"Stop _that_." 

 

               The archangel wasn't sure of where to go from there. He barely caught himself from glancing to his side in search of backup. Sam wasn't there- he probably wouldn't ever be there again. They were on different paths now. Perhaps their paths might cross again, but things wouldn't ever be as they once were. Inspirational speech about feeling; all that bullshit was Sam's thing. But turning to Sam for support was no longer an option. So now it had to be his thing, too. The archangel swallowed, clearing his throat. It took him a long time to find the words. Even then, they still weren't completely right. He didn't know if the right words even existed. Certainly not in English and probably not even in Enochian.

 

                 If this was to be the last words he'd ever say while he was still truly himself, he couldn't waste them being angry and yelling at Castiel for things beyond his control. It wasn't fair, though, in hindsight, a lot of things Dean had done didn't seem fair. If this was the last chance he had to make things right, to do what God himself had truly charged him to do, he would. 

 

"You aren't disposable. I've had to sit through watching you think you're an unimportant, useless freak. You aren't. I've heard every prayer you've ever sent up to Heaven and I've replied to them each time I had the chance. You aren't expendable and you're hardly insignificant. I've seen evil. Real evil. You aren't a monster. Not unless you choose to be one. I have faith in you not to make that mistake. I have more faith in you than you'll probably ever understand. If I thought you were any of those things you call yourself, do you honestly think you'd be here right now? You're a work of God as you are, flaws and all. So you better no plan on going anywhere. Especially since I'm counting on you to supervise Sam and Gabriel. And let me tell you, I'll be pissed if you leave those two alone by themselves."

 

               The archangel forced a smile. He doubted his joke would lighten the mood, but he didn't know any other way to end his little speech. Castiel watched him, still looking utterly perplexed. And yet, there was a sliver of something else there. Hope. Awe, maybe. It took a minute, but it was followed by the most genuine smile Dean had ever seen from the hunter. It seemed like a foreign expression after so many bitter smirks and sour smiles. He liked it, liked the feeling of being the one who earned that rare expression from him. Before long, Dean found his own smile to be real. 

 

"I... you listened? To all of them?" Castiel quietly asked.

 

                Dean was unable to gauge his reaction, but he uncertainly nodded in reply.

 

                 Castiel was taken aback. He wasn't angry, just completely shocked. The hunter had given up on praying a long time ago. Prayers now were only an absolute last resort, rarer than diamonds. Castiel could hardly grasp how much he'd poured out into his prayers over the years. Certainly more than Gabriel or his dad had ever known- every dark secret, every plead for them to return safely, all his anger and loneliness in his younger years. All the other things he hadn't been able tell his family and all their stifling machismo. To hear that someone had listened all along and even tried to respond to his praying... it felt like some impossibly crushing weight had been lifted from atop him. Someone knew all his secrets, for better or worse. And that someone still hadn't given up on him. It was all meaningful in a way he couldn't quite describe. Castiel felt his heart lighten, almost seeming to flutter in his chest.

 

               But as good things do, the moment didn't last. Dean felt something invisible slash across his face, earning a wince. Castiel blinked, staring at the blood trickling down Dean's forehead. His smile disappeared. The archangel felt his stomach sink as blood dripped into his eye, blurring his vision with red. 

 

"I didn't think angels bled," Castiel hesitantly stated. 

 

"They don't, not really."

 

"Then why are you bleeding?"

 

"I'm only here in mind, Castiel. Physically, I'm being injured. This vessel is just how you perceive me, even in your mind. This is just how you perceive the injury, translating it onto me."

 

               Dean's voice took on a heavyhearted sound. His eyes cast themselves downwards. The smile that took to his face held no trace of happiness, only morose acceptance. Dean seemed to age years in seconds, shadows that hadn't been there moments before falling across his face. Castiel almost thought he saw the archangel's eyes watering. His despair was written plainly in every single feature, coming off of him in nearly tangible waves.  

 

               Another slash materialized across his face. This one was deeper, across his right cheekbone. Dean flinched now, barely managing to keep his eyes dry. He slowly felt a consuming fire light within him, spreading and strengthening far too quickly. Their brief audience together had come to an end.

 

"Dean..." Castiel worriedly begun, edging closer.

 

"I'm probably not coming back, Cas, and definitely not as how you know me now," Dean cut him off.

 

               He couldn't even form words for a minute. It felt as if blows had rained upon his torso with the force of a semi-truck. Castiel had moved in front of him by the time he could see clearly again. Dean was vaguely aware of the contact between them. Castiel's hands were all that supported him from collapsing entirely. Dean leaned heavily against him, wheezing out his next words.

 

"What I'm saying is... I'm not going to be me anymore. That's only _if_ I come back.. So, Sam, you've gotta protect him. Maybe even from me. I don't know yet. I'm going to try to stay me as much as I can, but... Tell him I tried, alright? It wasn't his fault. Nothing ever was. Just... look out for him, okay? Keep him in check. Maybe the kid's right. But I've got to protect him from up there." 

 

                Dean wanted to be angry. He did. But he was far too tired to manage it anymore. He'd been angry far too long. So, instead, he found himself scared. Scared of what was going to happen to him and his brother. Scared of what he was going to become. That wasn't even to mention the things he'd do after he changed. There was no one to comfort him but the single hunter who he'd tried to comfort during the entirety of his short life.

 

                Father, it hurt. Dean fell onto his knees, breathing heavily. It was if all the damage he'd taken had suddenly registered, beating him from all sides at once. Castiel dropped down alongside him. Dean looked at him through vision clouded with pain, giving him one last smile. 

 

 _"So, I guess if I'll never have another chance to do it..."_  

 

               And everything hurt, Father, did it hurt. But the hurt lessened just a bit when he looks up into deep blue eyes. He leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. They stayed like that a moment, then Dean rests their lips together. And for a moment, everything was blissful. Castiel stared at him in shock, then closed his eyes. Dean has forgotten about everything. All that existed was just himself locked in an embrace with someone who he's supposed to despise. He kept his eyes open. He wanted to memorize the moment, keep the memory locked away so that he can visit it whenever he was at his lowest. He studied Castiel's face. Felt the stubble beneath his jaw, admired his long lashes, further messed up hopelessly tousled dark hair, and kissed lips that were strangely soft. 

 

                It hurt more than anything the archangel could imagine when he realized it was the last time things would be like this. Never again would he have the chance. Never again was he going to listen to Castiel's prayers, smile upon his human, protecting him as much as he could. He was going to die. All parts of him but his body- that would remain as a brainwashed soldier, his last tie to the world and person he'd once been. So Dean surged forwards and enjoyed it, because he was a dead man and he could die if this was the last thing he did. Not peacefully, per say, but without regret.

 

                It was Castiel who broke away, presumably to breathe. Dean was certain that he'd never seen such a degree of confusion on anyone's face before. Not even when he had to painstakingly explain several human concepts and behaviors to a clueless Sam. He found it endearing. Was there anything that Castiel couldn't make endearing? Was that the effect the hunter had on him? The archangel couldn't stifle the fondness that washed over him. And they were both there, together, suddenly smiling like a pair of idiots, blissfully unaware of everything that was about to happen. For the brief moment, they were both found. 

 

                While Dean admired Castiel, his thoughts ceased entirely. The full magnitude of his admiration couldn't be put into words. It was when a single thought, a single concept, that should've been so simple struck him through his pained haze that ice gripped his heart. He understood now. He understood it and suddenly everything made so much made sense, but yet he'd never been more confused. 

 

                 Panic filled him next. It was that panic that prompted him to leave with an abrupt snap of his fingers.

 

                 Neither ever got to say so much as a proper goodbye.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                 Castiel snapped awake. He was met with a vicious headache, only to discover that his skull was scrambled. Its contents were both shaken and stirred. It took him several minutes to realize that he was being shaken violently by his panicked brother.

 

"Gabriel, I would appreciate it if you stopped that," Castiel eventually managed.

 

"Cas?" Gabriel questioned, relief flooding his voice. 

 

"Yes. Please let go of me."

 

"What the fuck just happened, Cas? You spent the last fifteen minutes mumbling to yourself about angels and God knows what else! I called a fucking ambulance!"

 

                Castiel looked around. In the distance, he could indeed make out the sound of approaching sirens. He replied in a rather vague tone, trying to decipher what exactly had just happened.

 

"I'm fine, Gabriel."

 

                  That was a complete and utter lie. Gabriel could tell. Castiel was visibly torn up, clearly conflicted about something or another. But they had work to do and an ambulance to avoid. So Gabriel let the lie slip for now, allowing his brother to unsteadily hobble to their car before they tore out of the lot in pursuit of an ancient witch with their minds both in very different places.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have an excuse. Sort of. I broke my wrist, reinjured it, and then just got really lazy and slacked off while writing other ideas that I'd wanted to do for a while. So, I imagine you all are kind of pissed at me. Oops. I doubt this chapter is going to make you any happier, so, also, oops. It needed to be done. This was (or seemed like) a really long chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. Point out any errors, as usual! It was mostly written on my phone, so I apologize in advance. And as always, leave feedback! <3 
> 
> Also, Uriel is a total dick and my writing reflects that. So if you, may Heaven forbid, like him, this is the point where you should fuck off (please don't (but maybe reevaluate your life choices if you do) as I love you guys). I'm also about to collapse. Goodnight. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a nice chat with one of his brothers. Castiel, meanwhile, has a bad day.

**Chapter 16**

 

               Dean snapped out of his brief audience with Castiel and hazily awakened in a circle of fire. He blinked, unsteadily rising to his feet. Vertigo quickly overcame him, nearly sending him falling back onto the ground. Then, he was battered by a complete sensory overload. He tried registering everything one item at a time after it proved to be entirely overwhelming.

 

               First, he was pretty beaten up. Jesus Christ, they'd done a number on him already. It took a long time for his thoughts to just move past that. Felt like he'd been soaked in vinegar and lemon juice after every inch of his skin had been slashed wide open. When he at last pieced himself back together, he realized he was no longer in his vessel. Shit. And he'd just familiarized himself with  
the damn thing, too.

 

                 Vessels experienced things differently with their unique set of senses, but he couldn't deny he'd missed the simple pleasures of being an angel. Like at last being able to stretch out his angelic extremities. Three sets of golden wings snapped out from his back, flexing absentmindedly while he shook the lingering fatigue from his mind.

 

               It took a significant amount of concentration to collect his scattered thoughts and even then he still hadn't entirely gathered himself. His throbbing skull didn't help. It was like he was trying to finish a puzzle that was still missing pieces. What exactly was he up against, here? The archangel cudgeled his brain, scavenging for information. The answer he scraped together wasn't promising.

 

               It wasn't untrue that Dean was actually well liked by plenty of his brothers and sisters. Those of a certain type, anyways. The angels that flocked to him were usually the kind who hung around the fringes. Angels like Balthazar and Anael. And Sam.

 

               And so it happened that several of those angels, debatably by coincidence, belonged to the garrison he oversaw. It was always a mystery whether his garrison contained simply an abnormal number of troublemakers or whether he'd somehow imprinted the trait onto them.

 

               But it wasn't as if Dean ever wanted the responsibility of leading a garrison to begin with. It'd just been dumped on him. No matter how much he'd bitched about it, upper management had insisted that he at least supervised them. Technically, he had- although his supervision had consisted of putting one in charge by random selection, then checking in every once in a while to teach them a few tricks and mess around. Which wasn't something included in the instructions of the manual on how to be a great garrison leader. Not that he'd ever gotten one.

 

               Shit. Of course the garrison he'd never really wanted was going to end up hastening his downfall. It wasn't like they'd let any of those angels defend him, though. And the ones that had really liked him were dead or missing, anyways.

 

              Dean found himself missing those simpler times when half of his garrison's angels weren't missing and/or questionably dead. Himself included.

 

               The archangel had no shortage of angels who he'd pissed off over the years. They'd be lining around the block to take a piece out of him.

 

                In the simplest terms- yeah, he was screwed. The prosecution would have a field day with everything from his garrison and its angels to his appreciation of humanity. They'd especially have fun with finishing up just how screwed up of an angel he was. Everything was going to suck, right until his end. Maybe even afterwards, too. It wasn't like mercy was in the job description.

 

                Dean hadn't had a chance to fully appreciate the hopelessness of his circumstances when he was approached by his least favorite brother.

 

"Zachariah," Dean greeted him, with mock civility and a sugary grin.

 

               Zachariah didn't bother to conceal the pleasure he got from the scene. He chuckled, all pretenses of sportsmanship or humility discarded instantly.

 

"Sorry. You'll have to give me a second. I need a moment to savor it," he exclaimed. The angel flashed Dean a smarmy grin, reveling in his victory for far longer than necessary. "Wow. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this! I just need to... oh, what's the word?"

 

"Gloat?" Dean tightly suggested.

 

               Zachariah considered it, then grinned even wider.

 

"It's a rare occasion that I agree with you, isn't it?"

 

                Dean spent the next minute wondered if he could smite the Seraph from inside a circle of holy fire while he rambled on about something. Would it work? Would his attack rebound and kill him instead? Huh... that would probably be better than whatever his brothers and sisters had planned for him. But he couldn't go that far, not yet. And besides, they'd probably try to resurrect him anyways.  
  
   

               They were pretty sadistic savages sometimes for beings that were created to be righteous warriors of God. It was laughable to compare the twisted human interpretations of angels with the reality. Unfortunately, Zachariah's gleeful grins sucked away any humor he might've found in the comparison. Huh. Zachariah was a prime example of the reality of an angel. A perfect angel, at that.

 

"You've redefined the word slumming in the past few millennia. I mean- seriously?" he chuckled.

 

"I guess I just like partying," Dean snipped. Zachariah stared at him with eyes that knew nothing other than what they were told to feel.

 

"You know, there's a case that I've been building against you.. since forever, really. I can't even tell you how long you've been a thorn in my ass."

 

"Right back at you," Dean snarled.

 

               Zachariah let his cheer fade away, leaving something much more frightening behind. The atmosphere grew considerably colder. Each of Zachariah's faces lost their youthful delight in favor of burning contempt.

 

               Dean turned away to hide his victorious smirk from the Seraph. He hadn't so much as turned around when the air in front of him shifted, parting to make way for the steaming angel. The archangel rolled his eyes and groaned.

 

"Quit following me. I'm flattered by your advances, but you don't have permission to stalk me," he wryly retorted.

 

"Why don't you act your age for once?!" Zachariah snapped.

 

"And, what? Be the old geezer who sucks the joy from everyone else? There can only be one. One of us would have to disappear," he snorted.

 

              Dean was beginning to wonder if this was Hell. Had he died? Was this his eternity of suffering and torture? Being subjected to Zachariah's grating voice forever? It certainly seemed like it might be. He briefly contemplated leaping over the line of holy fire. He probably would've considered it more seriously if there wasn't Sam to worry about.

 

"You know, we've started noticing a trend with all your favorite angels. Befriending you seems like a death sentence. Anael- she's gone. Balthazar's dead. Samuel's signed his death wish. If you don't show some respect, your name's next on the list."

 

"Oh, am I ruffling up your feathers?" Dean smirked.

 

               Zachariah neared as close as the line of holy fire would allow, hissing,

 

"I'll be the one to personally rip your lungs out."

 

"I'm not afraid of you."

 

"You should be," he retorted.

 

                Dean was halfway to replying with an improvised witty retort when his insides seemed to liquefy inside him. The pain scorched him from within, swallowing him whole and sending him sprawling, writhing, on the ground. His wings snapped outwards, straining and thrashing with anguish. Each cell of muscle coiled tightly enough to be painful. His nails drove into his palms. His eyes sealed his eyes tightly shut. Every inch of him was tensed, coiled tightly as he twisted and struggled against an unseen enemy.

 

                 He couldn't see anything. Not dark satisfaction across Zachariah's face, nor the shining brilliance of Heaven. Even darkness seemed to evade his vision.

 

                 Dean screamed, a raw noise like the kind a dying man makes in his last moments.

 

                 And then the archangel was flying backwards in time. His life flashed before him. He saw everything, from being brought into the light to his current light dimming, dangerously close to extinguishing. It wasn't fair that things were going to end like this. So much of it wasn't fair. There was too much he regretted, too many things he needed to say. So much he should've done differently, so much he could've done to avoid this outcome. He should've protected Sam. Should've made sure Sam never saved the Righteous Man from Hell. It hadn't stopped anything in the end. The apocalypse was still coming and now Castiel and Gabriel would both die. Their deaths would just be much more prolonged and torturous. Like his.

 

                _He should've... he never should've listened to Castiel. He never should've listened to Castiel's prayers. He could look at all it had gotten him. This was all his fault. If he'd just ignored that disgusting waste of space, then perhaps things would've turned out differently. But instead, he'd let himself care about an insignificant hairless ape, cater to his every whim, allowed himself to serve something so much lesser than him. He didn't serve humanity, much less one disgraceful anathema._

 

                 No. No. _No_ , that wasn't him thinking. Those weren't his thoughts. It wasn't him. His thoughts didn't echo in his skull. The voice that spoke was unfamiliar and cold, his toxic words bouncing around his brain. Someone just had a direct hotline into his mind. And they were wrong. It wasn't true. It wasn't.

 

                Tendrils of fiery pain shot through him at the silent denial, battering him with renewed strength. Invisible daggers sliced into him. Blood dripped from his palms from where his nails had cut into the flesh. Something sour rose in his throat, mixing with the tangy flavor of blood in his mouth. A burnt smell reached his nose. He didn't have the focus figure out what it was. He wasn't sure he wanted to, either.

 

 _It was right, no matter how much he denied it_.

 

              The raw torment gradually came to an end. He lay there, inhaling heaving breaths of air to no avail. It seemed like all the oxygen had been sucked from the surroundings. Dean felt like he'd experienced the wrath of a trash compactor- his insides were crushed and mixed and burnt to a crisp. He stilled after several minutes, eventually stumbling onto his feet. The severe ache lingered. At least he could finally see straight, although there were many sights he'd rather see. Gabriel- mostly so he could personally threaten to beat the shit out of him, maybe to even give him his blessing. Maybe. Sam- he couldn't leave his brother with parting words like acid.

 

               And Castiel- who he'd never even gotten to given a real goodbye. The hunter he'd fallen for in more than just one way. But he'd panicked and he'd left and he was spiraling downwards in a hole he'd buried for himself.

 

"What? That's all you've got? You must be more of a pansy than I thought," Dean remarked, trying to sound unaffected. If he was going to die, at least he could do it with dignity. Put on one last show of bravado.

 

               Zachariah seemed to see through his act, though. His simper widened so much that Dean thought his face just might split in half.

 

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that. I've got a long list of things I'm going to have you skewered for."

 

                Dean shook his head. He slowly lifted his haze to meet Zachariah's, menacingly baring his teeth. He gulped down a breath of air and forced his voice to stay steady.

 

"I hope you know I'm going to kill you. That's not a threat, by the way. Just a fact. So you better plan on killing me now, because I'll come after you if you don't," Dean rumbled.

 

"How do you plan on doing that?"

 

"I'm thinking on something along the lines of strangulation paired with disembowelment," the archangel wryly answered.

 

                Dean was well aware that he was replying to the wrong question. The other question just posed too much of a challenge to answer, something the other angel was quick to catch onto. There wasn't any escape. Dean had no means to live up to that promise.

 

              Zachariah barked a fake laugh. His facade of amusement was quickly dropped to be replaced by a nightmarish expression. It was so unsettling it made even Dean's skin crawl. And he'd seen the worst of everything. Despair weighed heavily in his stomach. He tried to ward off his growing dread with a grin. It ended up looking more like a grimace.

 

"If you knew what was good for you, you'd quit being such a smartass," Zachariah darkly warned him.

 

"No can do. Smartassery's about ninety percent of my personality. I wouldn't be nearly as likable without it," Dean wryly retorted.

 

"That's what I was hoping you'd say."

 

                Zachariah snapped his fingers. Dean had one moment to prepare himself. It wasn't nearly enough time to ready himself before he was thrown back into another fit of anguish.

 

                His screams echoed all the way to the very corners of Heaven. There was no doubt for all those who heard. It was an unsubtle warning for all to stay submissive and cooperative or to suffer the consequences. Unsurprisingly, they kept their heads down, stayed silent, and endured.

 

 

* * *

 

   
                 The quiet rhythm of his feet clattering across the marble floors was nearly imperceptible. Going in with the guns blazing wasn't always the best decision, contrary to Gabriel's firm belief. Castiel seemed to have gotten all the diplomacy and stealth their genes had to offer.

 

                 And with another turn to his left, he found the demon of the night. He stilled, preparing to silently creep up onto him.

 

                Unfortunately, Castiel hadn't gone unnoticed as he'd thought. Before he could so much as form a plan of attack, Samhain twisted around and extended his arm. A stream of white light burst from the limb. Castiel paused, then grinned. The longer he went unaffected, the more frustrated the demon seemed to appear. He gave up once Castiel begun to approach him, eyeing the hunter with equal parts confusion and frustration.

 

"I hate to be the one to inform you, but the light show doesn't work on me," the brunet grimly smiled.

               Samhain considered it, then accepted the theory. It wasn't like there weren't other ways Castiel could be killed. There was all the force of a charging demon tearing towards him a second later, all before he could asses the situation and form a proper plan accordingly. Improvisation it was, then.

 

                 Castiel paused until the timing was right. Then, he put all his strength behind the swing of his fist. It connected just right, straight into the demon's jaw. Samhain's head snapped sideways at a strange angle with a wet crunch. The force sent him reeling back a step, but by then he'd recovered (unlike Castiel's fist, which was screaming). His neck cracked back into place with a resolute snap and he verged back onto the hunter.

 

               Samhain barraged him with all his strength, which for the demon of Halloween was quite a lot. Each hit that landed knocked the breath from him, like the power of a raging bull was behind them. By the time Castiel was struggling to match his blows, he was already had a rainbow made from bruises. The force from a hit to his temple, then an undercut to his jaw, and an elbow to the eye was already nearly enough to incapacitate him. He had to keep fighting, just a little longer.

 

                Castiel endured the rain of punches that fell upon him when he let his hands fall to his sides, completely undoing his defensive position. And leaving the rest of Samhain completely unshielded to attack.

 

               If he could just stay conscious long enough to do that, anyways.

             

               Castiel managed to, but only barely. He jerked his knee upwards in Samhain's stomach as hard as he could. His next kick, this one aimed for the demon's kneecap, sent him crumpling backwards.

 

                The hunter unsheathed Ruby's knife, stalking towards his opponent. He underestimated the time in which a possessed vessel could recover from a normally crippling blow. Instead of finishing the fight once and for all, he received a knife to calf. It was something he hadn't prepared for in the least. He didn't even notice until Samhain darkly chuckled, prompting him to look down at the blood slowly seeping through his slacks. Castiel yelled a horrified curse at the sight. He jumped backwards, though not before Samhain twisted the blade and violently yanked it out. Castiel stumbled backwards, anguish flaring all the way from his leg straight into his eye sockets.

 

               When his vision cleared, Samhain had him pinned against the wall with an arm crushing his windpipe. Castiel clawed in vain at the demon's arm. His face progressively turned an angry red. His eyes almost rolled back into his head, though he clung to consciousness when he heard Dean's voice echoing through his skull. His exact words were unclear, but it was him. Or maybe it was his mind. He was in too much shock to tell.

 

               The hunter scrabbled to grab ahold of his knife with his free hand once more. His fingers fumbled with the weapon, slicing themselves on the blade. They at last latched around the grip. He struggled to force his arm close enough to stab Samhain, though the single hand shoved into his shoulder stopped him. Castiel focused all his effort into one last tug. It freed him, but Samhain caught his wrist before he could plunge the knife back into him. He ruthlessly twisted it until something popped, at which point Castiel let the blade drop from his grip. The demon snorted and flicked his weapon across the room.

 

"It was a valiant effort," Samhain told him it a rumble of a voice.

 

                 Then Castiel was indignantly chucked across the room. His skull was the first things to crack against a marble column. He wheezed, trying to coax air down his swollen throat without much success. The hunger tilted his head back to stare at the spinning ceiling and groaned. By the time he no longer stunned, a sizable amount of blood had pooled underneath his head. The younger Novak stumbled onto his feet, swaying as he eyed Samhain. At least his probable concussion was better than imminent decapitation with a demon's bare hands, although that didn't look too far behind.

 

                Yeah, maybe going in with the guns blazing might've worked better.

 

                Castiel blinked. The hunter opened his eyes far too late to find Samhain closing in on him once more.

 

                 He was defenseless and nearly unconscious, possibly about to be killed. Gabriel had no idea where his was and was currently fighting off a hoard of angry ghost zombies in a crypt somewhere. Sam was nowhere to be found, Dean was permanently out of commission. He'd be damned if another angel like Uriel would bother to stop his windpipe from being crushed beneath the demon's foot. Samhain was too dangerous to roam freely around. The situation was just desperate enough to warrant it.

 

                 Gabriel didn't have to know. No one would have to find out. He could use his powers to do what he'd always intended to do- saving people.

 

                 His hand rocketed out in front of him. Samhain slowed, but showed no signs of stopping. Castiel made a noise, something strangled from the back of his throat. His hand closed into a fist. Samhain stopped, no more than a couple paces in front of him. He struggled against his invisible bindings. Each thrash sent a wave of blood coursing through his ears, weakening the unseen chains a bit more. Castiel gritted his teeth, tightening his fist long after his knuckles started popping with strain.

 

                Drums played in his ears. His blood heated until it was painfully boiling in his veins. It thickened, slowing enough for him to feel each pounding beat of his heart. Sweat beaded on his forehead. It trickled down his neck to join with rivulets of blood. Black and white crackled across his vision, like static from an old television. Blood oozed into his mouth from his split lip. He thickly swallowed it, eyes narrowed as his ears popped.

                 Behind Samhain's shoulder, Gabriel gaped at him. Castiel wasn't sure when he'd gotten there or how he'd even gotten there. They briefly made eye contact. Neither made any move. Gabriel continued staring and Castiel looked back towards Samhain and gritted his teeth. His mind was past the point of coherence by then. If the younger hunter weren't so preoccupied and blinded by concentration, even he could've categorized his brother's expression as one of horror.

 

                 The demon's vessel gagged a puff of black smoke. Castiel grimaced. His face screwed up with effort while he coaxed the vessel to expel the rest of the smoke. It was touch and go between them for a few seconds, each trying to get in an act of defiance. Castiel triumphed with one last push. The last of Samhain was evicted from his vessel with a cough that unceremoniously expelled a stream of inky smoke. He was sucked into the gaping pit opened in the ground, back into the depths of Hell where he belonged. His vessel collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

 

                  Castiel coughed. He was startled when his hand came away with droplets of blood. When he absentmindedly raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his face, it too came away red. Blood gushed from his nose. Some oozed down his throat. The younger hunter winced. It had little to do with pain and more to do with the realization that his brother had seen him.

 

                 He glanced up to Gabriel eyeing him with a mix of overwhelmingly negative emotions. Anger. Sadness. Fear. The last one hurt the most. It even scared him. Even his own brother was afraid of him. Was that really what he'd become? Something so monstrous that his big brother- who'd known him his whole life- couldn't look him straight in the eye without flinching?

                 Castiel wiped his face on his button up and a made a point to avoid Gabriel's gaze. His right leg buckled not long after. Gabriel barely sped over to steady him before he took a nosedive. He could feel his brother's stare rotate between his bloodied face, bruised neck, and the wound to his calf. And those were only the things he could see.

 

"What the hell, Cas? He beat the shit out of you," Gabriel mused, trying to hide his smirk. Worry bled into his voice, though, making the joke less humorous than intended.

 

"Fighting him with a kitchen knife isn't exactly ideal, Gabriel," Castiel retorted, dangerously close to collapsing.

 

"If you're suggesting what I think you are, I'll personally kick your ass," his brother replied in a halfhearted attempt at a joke.

 

                   It fell flat. The seal had been broken, despite their best efforts to track down the witches in time. And lucky them, there hadn't been just one. There'd been two, just so the hunt could really be a party.

                 Sure, they'd put Samhain back in Hell for a another definite six hundred and something years, but he'd still risen. The seal was broken. Uriel was probably going to smite them now. At the very least, he'd liquefy their eyes. Or maybe remove their lungs. Or give them some sort of prolonged, painful death. Both Sam and Dean were missing. There was little hope that the latter would return. And then the younger Novak had to deal with the dilemma of whether or not to explain the contents of their final meeting. And which parts of it to recount.

 

                    So, yeah, their moods were somber. Gabriel slung his arm around Castiel to support him, relieving the weight put onto his injured leg. He made one last attempt to amuse his brother, just like when they still had bright eyes and fewer years behind them.

 

"Guess this means I get to play doctor for the day. I'll see if I can call up Sam. Get him to be your nurse."

 

               Castiel hesitated, but he eventually cracked a smile. It was strained since adrenaline of the fight had faded, but it was a smile nonetheless.

 

"In no way are you legally qualified to perform any medical examination," he responded.

 

"What's that supposed to mean? I've been cleaning up your messes for years. That's got to make me qualified somehow."

 

"Your verdict for a cure is a fifth of hunter's helper and a bandage slapped on top of the wound."

 

                Gabriel snorted, helping his hobbling brother into the backseat of the Impala. He took out his flask, tilting it in his brother's direction. Castiel didn't hesitate to accept his offer. The thing was practically empty by the time he handed it back. Gabriel sloshed around the remaining liquor, draining the container of the last few drops.

 

                  The younger hunger reclined back as the alcohol burned down his throat, some of the tension leaving his face. Gabriel eyed him, snorting.

 

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Alcohol cures everything."

 

"Not injury obtained inflicted on me during your so-called doctoring," he muttered.

 

"If you keep trash talking my medical skills, who's going to fix you up after I beat you up?"

 

"I doubt that all of your ninety pounds could inflict much damage, even with your current advantage."

 

                  Gabriel snorted again, closing the rear door and sliding into the driver's seat. He glanced at his brother in the mirror, worry creasing his face. The tone of his words told a different story, but that was a technique he'd mastered long ago.

 

"I always forget how sassy you get when you're hurt. Speaking of which, I'm not going to have to carry you anywhere, right? Because unless you show some brotherly compassion, you'll be getting dragged out of here by the fringes of your trench coat."

 

"It's technically an overcoat."

 

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. In the meanwhile, try not to bleed on my car. It's a bitch to clean."

 

"Jerk."

 

"Bitch."

 

                Castiel laughed, though it was a rather inebriated sound. It took around fifteen minutes of silence until the alcohol has fully sunken in, making him hammered. And apparently open to spilling secrets now that all his logic had been thrown out the window.

 

"I kissed Dean," he declared, rubbing his face. "Several times, actually."

 

                  The car screeched to a stop. Castiel was thrown forward at the abrupt change in movement. He slammed against the front seats, then bounced backwards. The cycle repeated itself a few times thanks to inertia. He groaned, slurring out a curse. Gabriel swerved off the road, oblivious to his case of whiplash, and whirled around in his seat.

 

"You're dreaming, right? You're drunk and dreaming this up?" Gabriel slowly interrogated him.

 

"Nope," Castiel cheerily replied, chuckling at the sheer ridiculousness of the words they exchanging. "Well, the time we were inside my mind probably doesn't count," he added with the slow thoughtfulness of a drunk.

 

"Is that what happened during your sleep seizure earlier?" Gabriel tightly questioned.

 

"Yep," Castiel replied, popping the p.

 

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Gabriel shouted when he at last was no longer speechless.

 

                  Yeah, Castiel had unknowingly hooked up with a couple supernatural creatures over the years. But this? This was completely off the scale. This was way beyond the reservoir of normal. A bloody archangel? One that might want to disembowel him? Friggin' great. Just freakin' brilliant. They were dead. Oh, God, were they dead.

 

"That he's a good kisser. And pretty," Castiel slurred, grinning.

 

                  Gabriel's mind flew into a long string of curses. Everything suddenly seemed about twice as bad. If they'd thought Uriel was going to disintegrate them before, now he was going to slow roast them over an open bonfire. Granted that he knew, at least.

                 Gabriel wasn't even sure how to reply. If Castiel weren't wasted, he'd have him take over the wheel. He was too angry, too worried, to drive. His anger was probably going to be taken out on his baby if he drove. So he sat there on the side of the road, seething while he tried to calm down. When Castiel went into a fit of laughter, it took all his willpower not to tear back onto the road and slam the brakes while his brother was still unsuspecting.

 

"Oh! Dean gave me a message for you," Castiel chirped.

 

"What did he say?" the elder Novak retorted with a clipped voice.

 

               Castiel wracked his brain in an effort to recall exactly what Gabriel had told him. After stumbling through several "uhs" and "ums," his face lit up.

 

"He wanted me to tell you that he's going to choke you with your intestines," Castiel told him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Despite that, you know, an archangel wanted him dead.

 

"Did he give a reason why?"

 

"Maybe," Castiel finally replied.

 

                Castiel looked up. The ceiling of the Impala spun madly. He shut his eyes and scrunched up his face in concentration. His mind was progressively working less as it fogged over. Maybe he'd underestimated the alcohol content of Gabriel's flask. Or his alcohol tolerance. His sobriety had been tossed out the window twenty minutes ago. And he was tired, too. Gabriel glared at him in the mirror, but his stare softened just a bit when he saw his brother's poor state.

 

                His brother's skin had taken out a waxy look. The color had drained from his face, leaving him to look like a vampire. Sweat soaked through his shirt, plastering it to his skin. There were too many bloodstains on his clothing to tell how much he'd bled and how much gore came from another source. And he looked nauseated. Dangerously nauseated.

 

"Alright. We're talking about this later," Gabriel tensely replied when it became clear his brother was down for the count.

 

                Castiel made an acknowledging noise, then rolled onto his side and went quiet. God. They were screwed. Gabriel spent the rest of the ride home in silence, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. He dragged Castiel from the back of the car. Castiel took one wobbling step and tripped. He managed to get himself into a kneeling position. And then he vomited out all the contents of his stomach.

 

                 Gabriel sighed, patiently waiting for Castiel to stop puking. Then he slung his brother over his shoulder, and stumbled back into their motel room. He hadn't even laid Castiel down on his bed yet when he heard the shift of air behind him. He stiffened. The room grew colder, though it might've just been because of the icy gaze on the back of his neck.

 

"Congratulations," the angel sarcastically drawled.

 

"Great to see you again, Uriel. Thanks for absolutely nothing," Gabriel snarked.

 

"You had your opportunity. You failed. It's your responsibility to deal with the consequences. Angels don't exist to clean up the aftermath of your mistakes."

 

"Mm... I don't know about that."

 

                Uriel drily laughed. Gabriel finally faced him, scowling as he crossed his arms.

 

"You're not nearly as irreplaceable as you think."

 

"I don't know. I feel pretty special," the hunter mused, raising his brows.

 

                The angel closed in on him, leaving him nearly pinned against the nightstand and the two beds.

 

"Everyone is expendable. You're no different. So I suggest you tread carefully."

 

               Gabriel should've let it go. But he had a thing for getting the last word and filtering his words hadn't ever been one of his strengths. So he drew himself as tall as he could and retorted with,

 

"You know, there's this thing called tolerance. It's something you junkless angels should learn. Can't even handle a joke. God, you're all so sensitive."

 

                  He doubted Uriel was capable of much more than anger, because even he seemed surprised by the surprise that marred his expression.

 

"I'll grind you into dust, you insignificant mud-monkey," Uriel growled after his speechlessness ended.

 

                 Gabriel snorted and rolled his eyes. Afraid his eyes might show something other than his bravado, he focused his attention back onto his bleeding brother.

 

"Whatever, junkless. You better get in line now. It's going to be a long wait. Now, unless your feathered ass is gonna help me fix up Cas, I suggest you split."

 

"It's your responsibility to deal with the consequences," Uriel growled, glowering at him. "Something you might want to tell your brother, also. He seems not to have grasped the concept of not using his abilities. He acts brashly, for someone who's been warned against using the profane blood running through his veins. Don't think that I won't hesitate a second to reprimand him if you can't get him under control."

 

               With that parting threat, he was gone.

 

"What a fucking ray of sunshine," he hissed to the empty room.

 

              Gabriel sighed. They were so epically screwed. He ran a hand through his hair, then faced his brother. Any sort of distraction would be welcome. He still couldn't quell his dread when he eyed the still bleeding wound.

 

                He slashed a slit open in Castiel's slacks after rolling them up proved to be impossible, thanks to the dried blood sealing them tightly to his leg. Dark crimson liquid angrily gushed from the wound when Gabriel peeled away the fabric. He flinched. Damn. It was a gaping thing, too deep for him to gauge its full extent. How had he let Castiel walk on that? How had Castiel not passed out already or something? It didn't take long for him to determine that this way well beyond either of their medical skills. This was the sort of thing that required a painstaking trip to the hospital.

 

"C'mom, Cassie. You're gonna have to get up," Gabriel murmured, shaking him awake.

 

                Castiel groaned in protest, slapping him away. Gabriel sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night. He headed to the bathroom to find a towel to stifle the bleeding. The hunger hadn't even made it to the the threshold of the bathroom door before he stopped in his tracks. It was soft, but there was definitely the rustle of fabric underneath the moaning of the AC unit.

 

                 The lights flickered off and a flash of lighting brightened the room, accompanied with a clap of thunder. He turned with a face screwed up with annoyance, fully prepared to deal with Uriel's return. The angel had probably returned to finish them off or something.

 

                 But the room was empty, other than his brother. The younger hunter was oddly quiet now. His breathing had gone from labored to soft. Castiel stirred and rolled onto his side, a stark change from his writhing a moment before. Gabriel drew his gun, cautiously nearing his brother. He was prepared for something to sneak attack him in the darkness, because that was what usually happened. A moment of silence before the storm.

  
  
                 Nothing leaped at him from the shadows, though. He was greeted only by his peacefully sleeping brother. Which couldn't be right, because Castiel had been trembling just moments before. The color had returned to his cheeks. The swelling had gone from his eye, like the matted blood from the back of his head. Gabriel examined the scene more closely and found that the bloodstains on the sheets were now absent. And so was the harm done to, well, all of him. There was a faded scar along the side of his calf, but no sign otherwise that it had been wrecked just moments before. Gabriel tiredly smiled, running a hand through his hair. He fell heavily onto the edge of his bed, flopping backwards.

 

                   Things didn't just help them out of the good of their hearts. They always wanted something in return. Except for maybe just a couple. Or just one, because only one name came to mind. All logic pointed to him having ulterior motives, but Gabriel couldn't believe that. He trusted Sam, out of instinct if not evidence. And he was a hunter- hunters trusted their instincts. And it seemed only fair to thank him, considering all he'd already done for them for whatever reason.

 

                He hesitated. Jesus Christ. Was he seriously going to do this? He swallowed, rolling his eyes at his own embarrassment.

 

 _"Thanks, Sam,"_ he thought, ignoring that he felt like an insecure teenager doing it.

 

               He felt stupid. How was this even supposed to work? Why didn't he have Castiel just do it the next morning? There was a long silence. Gabriel sighed in exasperation with himself. Why had he expected a reply or something to begin with? A friggin' rebel angel obviously had more important things to be dealing with. He started to crawl underneath his covers, ready to admit defeat.

 

 _"You're welcome,"_ a voice echoed in his mind, sounding pleasantly surprised and eerily familiar.

 

 _"Sam?"_ Gabriel disbelievingly questioned.

 

_"It's me. What do you need?"_

 

                Gabriel paused, thrown off guard. Sam didn't sound annoyed like he was dealing with a chore. He sounded genuinely concerned, earnest to cater to Gabriel's whim. It wasn't what he'd expected. He recovered quickly enough, but the shock lingered long after.

 

_"I... I don't need anything. Well, just one thing would be great."_

 

_"Anything you need."_

 

_"Just.. look after yourself, alright?"_

 

_"I... I will."_

 

_"Wait, one last thing. I don't get it. Why would you do all this? It doesn't make sense. You just gave up everything, for what?"_

 

                Gabriel could tell Sam was picking his words carefully. He started more than once, only to stop himself. It took three tries before he seemed to find the right words.

 

_"I'm flawed, Gabriel. I can't overlook certain things. I'm not like the rest of them. I'd rather die for something I believe in than for the ideals I've been force-fed my entire life. And if my family won't stand behind me, then were they ever really family to begin with? I'm not accepted as I am. With humans, it's different. You've taken me, flaws and all. I'd rather have that a home where I wasn't welcomed."_

 

_"You'll always have a home with us."_

 

                Gabriel wasn't sure why he said it. It just felt right. It had left his lips before he'd even given it a second thought. What was even more concerning was that he didn't regret saying it. At all. That surprised him most. Sam sounded equally as shellshocked when he softly answered with,

 

_"I... thank you."_

 

                 Neither knew what to say from there. Gabriel was still trying to second guess himself, to no avail. Every way he looked at it, it still felt right. It probably should've been more concerning that it was. But Gabriel had never been one to doubt instinct and he wasn't going to start now. Maybe he was just exhausted and he'd hit himself over it tomorrow. He doubted it.

 

                  Upon thinking about sleep, he absentmindedly yawned. Sam quickly picked up his exhaustion.

 

 _"Go to bed. You've got to sleep sometimes to survive, interestingly enough,"_ he said in response to the gesture.

 

                 Was that sarcasm? Maybe Gabriel was rubbing off on Sam. He smirked at the thought, but shook it off quickly enough. They hadn't known each other _that_ long. 

 

 _"I guess so. Though I've got to say I'm a fan of the nightlife. All the best things happen during the night, you know,"_ Gabriel remarked, suggestively raising his brows in case Sam was watching, too.

 

 _"Oh? Like what?"_ the Angel innocently asked.

 

               Gabriel startled. Shit. That wasn't what he'd planned. Explaining nighttime activities to an angel seemed like one of those things he shouldn't do. Especially after getting pissed at Castiel for getting too close to one.

 

 _"I'm too tired right now. I'll explain to you some other time,"_ Gabriel eventually answered, hoping that he could at least stall for time.

 

_"Perhaps you could demonstrate as well. I've heard the best way to learn is through firsthand experience."_

 

                 Gabriel mumbled something unintelligible. Sam, through some miracle or semblance of understanding, thankfully moved on.

 

_"Yes, well, it'll have to come later. You've got to sleep."_

 

 _"Sleep, yeah. Can't live without it. Pathetic things, aren't we?"_ he jokingly responded.

 

_"I don't think so. I wouldn't have left if I'd thought that."_

 

Maybe Sam hadn't learned as much as he'd thought, after all.

 

 _"I'm not so sure about your-,"_ he begun, figuring replying to him would be better than trying to explain his joke.

 

_"This conversation can be delayed until you aren't delusional from sleep loss. Goodnight, Gabriel. I'll see you as soon as I can."_

 

_"Night, Sam."_

 

                   Gabriel fell asleep easily that night. Even more surprisingly, he slept through it without any trouble. No nightmares plagued him. None that he remembered, anyways. Six hours later- which was the hunter's equivalent of sleeping in past the afternoon- he woke up. He retrieved breakfast for himself and his still snoring brother from the diner down the street.

 

                  Eventually, the scent of pancakes tempted Castiel to crawl out of his bed. Between then and Gabriel's return, the elder hunger had already showered, eaten, and gone through his morning routine. Castiel predictably scowled upon finding that Gabriel had only brought back strawberry syrup, totally not forgetting to bring him back honey purposefully. Then the younger Novak tore through his breakfast, wordlessly drained his coffee and stole Gabriel's instead of getting more of his own. Unsurprisingly, the younger Novak disdainfully tossed it back to him upon finding that it'd been spiked.

 

                    So it was a regular morning. Or it would've been, if Gabriel hadn't spent his morning wondering how exactly to approach the things that had come up the night prior. French kissing archangels wasn't exactly a normal conversational topic. Castiel was halfway through his third cup of coffee when Gabriel quit trying to think of ways to diplomatically word things. He pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and bluntly asked-

 

"So, you made out with an archangel?"

 

                  Castiel froze mid-sip into his coffee. He stayed in that position with the eyes of an animal trapped in front of the headlights of a speeding car until Gabriel cleared his throat in annoyance. Then, he gently laid his fork back down. Gabriel caught the slight twitch of his leg as he adjusted uncomfortably in his seat.

 

"If you run, I'm going to shoot your kneecap," Gabriel threatened.

 

"Shit," Castiel eventually mumbled, the curse coming rough from his mouth.

 

                 The younger hunter glanced around desperately one last time in search of an escape. There were none, since Gabriel had already conveniently blocked the pathway to the door. He breathed out a resigned sigh.

 

"I'd hoped that was a nightmare, seeing as I seem to lack the pounding headache that would accompany the copious drinking required for me to admit that."

 

"Oh, you were wasted. Would've been a bitch to haul you off to the hospital. Luckily for the both of us, Sam paid a visit and did some healing."

 

"So he agreed to play nurse?" Castiel quietly joked. Gabriel was having none of it.

 

"I'll drag him back here and make him give you back that hangover if you don't shut up," Gabriel threatened.

 

                      Castiel sighed and stared expectantly at his brother, readying himself for whatever argument was brewing.

 

"First of all, what was with Dean's message for me?" the older hunter asked.

 

                Castiel flinched. God, his lips loosened far too much when he was drunk. How much did Gabriel know? Had he told him about his promise to Dean? Or the fact that Sam may or may not have fallen in love with him during a period of time that Gabriel couldn't even remember? Castiel scoured his mind, but everything after the crypt...

 

                   Shit. The last thing he remembered was Gabriel watching him use his powers on Samhain. The look frozen on his face, mainly, Maybe he'd overlook that part of the night to yell at him over the Dean thing? That expression wasn't something Castiel needed to revisit. He needed his brother, needed him to trust him. So he answered as honestly as he could while revealing as little as possible.

 

"He's angry with you," Castiel deadpanned when he realized that Gabriel was waiting for an answer.

 

"Yeah, I got that. What for?"

 

"Sam."

 

"What about Sam?"

 

                   Castiel frowned. His brows furrowing and his gaze rose to the ceiling. This was a delicate subject and a topic like delicacy was something Gabriel had difficulty grasping.

 

"He... blames you."

 

"Could you be any more vague?" Gabriel deadpanned.

 

"Yes. That seems like a strange thing to request, but-," Castiel slowly begun, eyes narrowed with confusion. Gabriel interrupted him with a scowl.

 

"Sarcasm, Cas. Just- look, what does he blame for? Sam rebelling?"

 

"Yes. He thinks you're the reason Sam rebelled."

 

"Why?"

 

"I think Sam is better suited to answer that question," Castiel carefully replied.

 

"You know something," Gabriel tightly deduced.

 

"I know what Dean's thoughts on the matter."

 

"Yeah? And do you believe him?"

 

                  Castiel paused, contemplating everything. He thought about the way Sam always repositioned himself to be as close as possible, how he always smiled brightest when he smiled at Gabriel. The way that Sam looked happy whenever Gabriel was around. How sad and lonely he looked when Gabriel wasn't watching. One could saw Sam looked like he was willing Gabriel to remember something. It was bittersweet to watch, even for someone as clueless as Castiel. All the evidence fully supported Dean's theory.

 

"I think so," Castiel finally answered.

 

"But you aren't going to tell me what exactly that is?" Gabriel bitterly snapped.

 

"I don't think I should be the one to tell you," Castiel evenly replied.

 

                    He shoved a mouthful of the remaining hash-browns in his mouth. Gabriel glowered at him until he concluded that Castiel was resolute, then cursed and turned away. He leaned against the counter and exhaled sharply.

 

"Great. Now we're going to talk about your psychic episode."

 

                  It was Castiel's turn to curse, mumbling into his coffee. Gabriel eyed him, then snorted.

 

"Yeah. You didn't think I'd forgotten about that, did you?"

 

"I was hoping you might overlook it," he sheepishly replied.

 

"That was a rhetorical question, Cas," Gabriel wryly informed him.

 

"Oh."

 

"Great. Now that that's out of the way. You can't mess around with this shit, Cas! I thought our heart-to-heart on the way over there drilled it into your head, but I guess I was wrong."

 

"I was disarmed. I had no choice," Castiel defended himself.

 

                  Gabriel was having none of it. He was stressed, shoved ever closer to the edge. The older Novak was already stretched to limit without having to deal with his younger brother's black magic tricks.

 

"Was that why you ditched me? So that I'd be stuck ganking the ghost-zombie orgy while you went after the prizefighter? So you could use the exact same thing you've been warned against using? And not just by your brother, by the way! You want to ignore your own family, fine. Whatever. But the angels know what they're talking about, asshats or not. So quit tempting yourself to use them, because it won't end well for either of us. You've got to get it under control, or someone'll make you. And trust me, you won't like the second option," Gabriel snapped.

  
  
                 Castiel felt himself growing increasingly angry with each passing word. His brother treated his powers as if it were something he actually wanted. He'd never wanted it. He'd never wanted to mess with any of it. Not monsters or demons (and definitely not their blood) and certainly not psychic powers that made his own family distrust him. And he couldn't ever get away from any of it. It was always going to follow him around- no matter how hard he tried to escape it. It was why everyone he surrounded himself with died. His mother, Jess, his father, his brother- his entire damn family had died because of him- and now Dean.

 

                  Dean. He was gone. Castiel was surprised by the sheer amount sorrow that flooded him at that thought. To some extent, it had to be his fault. No, all of it was his fault.

 

                And his stupid friggin' powers were the whole reason all of it had even happened, right since the beginning. A surge of anger flooded his veins, heating him from the inside. He gritted his teeth and glared at his brother.

 

"Shut up. I never asked for this and I certainly never asked for your opinion," Castiel growled.

 

                  The pleasure brought on by look of shock on Gabriel's face was immense but fleeting. It lasted just until he slammed the door behind him. And then he just felt cold and empty. Castiel practically collapsed onto the curb, head in hands. He felt... loss. And powerless to do anything about it. Yeah, that sounded about right.

 

                  At some point, Gabriel joined him.

 

"I'm sorry, Cas."

 

"What for?"

 

"You know what."

 

"No, I don't. I don't know whether you apologize because you're actually regretful about something or because it's what you think you should do as the elder brother," Castiel coolly replied.

 

"Fine. I'm sorry that you got loaded with all this crap you didn't want," Gabriel exhaled, pausing to take a drink. "And I'm sorry that everyone's riding your ass over you using them, even when you're backed into a corner. Including me."

 

                 Castiel straightened himself and glanced to his brother. That was a start, at least.

 

"Thank you," he simply responded.

 

                  It was an overcast morning, steamy and humid. Fog wallowed in the air, leaving the air to wrap around them like a damp blanket. It was like they were breathing underwater. Castiel focused his gaze at the passing cars, envious of their unknowing, innocent passengers. Just something else he could never be.

 

"What else is there I don't know?" Gabriel questioned, his tone softening.

 

                  Castiel deeply sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He held his stare on the passerby, swallowing hard before he managed,

 

"They dragged Dean back to Heaven. He's gone. He said that if he returned, he'd be dead in everything but body."

 

                  Gabriel felt bad when he cheerfully thought that Dean's absence would at least solve the problem of their mutual interest in each other. One problem solved, although it was probably going to create a whole other batch. When he Castiel caught glancing strangely at him, he replied as convincingly as he could with,

 

"Dean's a tough sonuvabitch. He's got a plan. He'll be fine."

 

"And if he isn't? If he comes back to fight against us? His entire reason for meeting me was based on that. He tasked me with protecting Sam, possibly against him. Dean wasn't exactly putting on a show of confidence and he'd know best."

 

"Nothing's set in stone. We'll take things as they come."

 

                    He tilted his flask in Castiel's direction. The younger Novak didn't hesitate to accept his offer. He took a long draught, the whiskey burning down his throat a comforting presence. He handed the container back to his brother, who took a long swig. They shared a silence, only broken by a reassuring statement from Gabriel.

 

"It's going to be alright, Cassie."

 

"I highly doubt that."

 

                Castiel didn't say it aloud. He couldn't. Even if he couldn't convince himself of it, maybe he could convince his brother that he believed it. But things certainly weren't going to be alright.

 

                Especially not once Gabriel found out the source of his powers. Castiel had gotten the idea that Sam's silence was only a temporary thing. If he didn't take the opportunity presented to him to tell his brother himself, then Sam would take it for him. But for now, things felt just about as peaceful as they ever got. They were just two brothers sharing a drink.

 

                 And no matter how hard he tried, his lips were too heavy to speak. So he just took back the flask and brought it to his mouth because that was easier.

   

                Neither spoke again for a long time. Instead, they sat on the curb and shared their liquor in quiet camaraderie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is longer than I intended. I still don't know how long it is, because I wrote this on my phone instead of notes. And when I first finished this chapter, I realized that if sucked. Hence ten days of editing and rewriting/adding new scenes. I am satisfied overall, though, so hopefully you won't skin me over the long wait. As always, leave your feedback, comments, and suggestions below! Also, there's no working semblance of autocorrect on my phone, so please point out any typos. Thanks so much!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean.

**Chapter 17**

 

                Dean quickly lost track of how long it'd been. The date wasn't as important as other things. Things like his molecules were busy being ripped apart, restructured, then haphazardly mashed back together, for example.

 

                The memories of his time there were spotty, though he wasn't sure if that was an entirely bad thing. It was getting harder to discern reality from his nightmares and visions and his straight-up hallucinations. He was pretty certain that they'd gone overboard a few times and killed him, only to revive him so that they could start the process over again. But those memories could've just been figments of his increasingly paranoid imagination and his ever collapsing reality.

 

                Dean was deeply flawed and he was far too human for one. And coming with the human package was exhaustion, something he'd never felt the full force of until now. His mind had been under a constant barrage of attacks. It was difficult to tell his thoughts from those of the intruder, now. They'd started to merge. He could feel his own memories slipping like sand between his fingers. The finer details of his more pivotal memories had already drifted away. They weren't so important anymore.

 

               His sights and senses were dulled. Colors were muted. There was less meaning to them now. And his emotions... they were out of reach. It was like he was disembodied, able to remember what it felt like, but just unable to access them.

 

               Dean couldn't bring himself to recall the wonder he'd once felt wandering through the Garden of Eden. He didn't understand the joy he'd felt after receiving praise from his Father. He didn't quite feel the magnitude of pride he'd experienced when Sam had returned from Hell with a victorious grin and a suspicious hunter in tow.

 

               A void had been opened inside of him and ripped wider with each passing day. It eclipsed his thoughts, his emotions, his personality. Every morning brought a slightly less familiar version of himself.

 

               The angels had gradually chipped away at him, molding him into their idea of what he should be.

 

                It showed. His mind, once a haven, was now just an extension of his personal hell. An inescapable prison of fear and anger and hatred and paranoia, all designed to feed an increasingly overactive imagination. It was painful for anyone who'd ever felt a shred of compassion to watch. Most of his brethren who visited him had not. Or they at least put on one hell of an act. 

 

                Keeping him in the dark was one of their more successful torture methods. Dean was utterly isolated and in the dark. Not a single of his brothers or sisters would tell him anything, despite his best efforts to squeeze information from them. There was the occasional guilty look, but that told him nothing and it only functioned to further his paranoia.

 

                Sam couldn't be dead, though. He was too smart to be caught- much smarter than Dean had been. He'd evade them, wherever he was. That was what he told himself, anyways. Worry still clawed at him and tore him apart, piece by piece. 

 

                 Dean clung to the thought of protecting Sam. It was his job- before any angel politics. He couldn't let them find Sam. He wasn't going let them turn him against his own brother.

 

                 Sam was his family. His real family. Not like the angels that claimed to be and then turned around and did... this to him.

 

                 Dean had done it for millennia. Even though no one had understood why, not even himself, he'd done it anyways. Sam was supposed to be his inferior. An angel that didn't deserve a second glance. Sure, Sam had been just about the last thing God had snapped into existence before going AWOL, but he'd been nothing but trouble since he first spoke. Sam was opinionated, thoughtful, intelligent, and hopelessly inexperienced, not to mention naive. He was everything an angel wasn't supposed to be. Why the hell did could he ever think things wouldn't end up like this?

 

               He just... he just needed to cling to that natural instinct that was embedded so deeply inside him. The instinct to protect and preserve, something that all the angels seemed to lack. All of them expect for...

 

               Except for the very one he was trying to protect. 

 

               His promise he'd made to himself was all what kept him from imploding entirely.

 

               Well, that and the prayers that would occasionally reach him. Dean was never able to properly hear them. By the time they reached him, they'd be muffled or nearly muted entirely. They probably weren't supposed to reach him at all. Dean would strain to listen, forcing himself to hear the quiet words through the blood rushing through his ears. Or his screams. They had little variation, but it didn't stop him from cherishing them. 

 

                 Castiel would update him on the occurrences of his and Gabriel's lives. The human unfortunately had no idea as to Sam's whereabouts either. He'd usually throw in bits and pieces of emotions. He never mentioned anything that had happened between them. It was probably for the better. The underlying awkwardness of Castiel's words wasn't something Dean needed to deal with.

 

                Although the hunter sounded progressively less hopeful he was being heard, he still diligently prayed each night. It seemed to comfort him, if nothing else. It certainly comforted the archangel. 

 

                 And when his memories weren't warping and losing their significance, they were fading altogether. Little things became bigger and bigger. And then everything Castiel was vanishing. All the little things, the small touches and all the times Dean had sent a row of good luck his way.

 

               And then his first personal memory of Castiel started going. He tried hanging on as hard as he could, fighting and clawing to hold on, but he lost. He lost it. Soon after, all the rest followed. And then he'd lost Castiel, too. 

 

                Even though Castiel kept praying and Dean kept listening, willing himself to remember who exactly that person was and why he was personally so important to him, he couldn't. There was something there, but the archangel had lost what exactly there was between them. And that hurt. It hurt a fucking lot. Maybe even more than the nine layers of hell he was being put through.

 

                 Dean wanted to scream out an answer. But even that seemed progressively less important, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. He'd lost Castiel and though Castiel didn't yet know it, Dean had already been lost to him.

 

                  ~~_Dean was doing nothing in particular. There wasn't anything to do. It was one of those rare peaceful days, the first since Anael's rebellion. Her witch hunt had finally died down. Although Dean couldn't say he wasn't getting suspicious looks every now and then, there hadn't been any blatant accusations that he'd been involved with her disappearance. Sam was somewhere with Balthazar, undoubtedly wreaking havoc. So for now, at least, it was a quiet day for him to enjoy._~~

 

_~~He was so preoccupied with himself that almost didn't hear the quiet voice echoing through his mind.~~  
_

 

~~_"Hello. Is anyone there?"_ ~~

  
  
                    ~~It was a voice he didn't recognize. That wasn't strange. Lots of prayers went to Heaven. And then they went straight into the waste bin. God was long gone. Any prayers addressed to him were ignored The chance of being noticed was slim. Rarely, a prayer was answered to "keep faith alive" or some bullshit, hence the occasional miracle. Otherwise, no angel had time to sift through hours and hours of the complaints and woes of humanity.~~

 

_~~But prayers addressed to specific angels? Those were almost always listened to. Having a following of praying humans was practically a status symbol. Not to mention that it seconded as something like a Christmas bonus, just in terms of grace instead of cash. And they were just straight up intruguing, which was enough of a reason for the messenger of the angels. Dean quieted his mind, zeroing in on the voice.~~_

 

 ~~_"If anyone's listening, could you please let dad get back by tomorrow? I wish I knew exactly what he was doing. Everyone always tells me it's important, but I don't see how selling insurance matters all that much. Or why he's got to leave me and Gabriel behind whenever he goes. Sometimes I_ ~~ ~~_kind of think that he just hates me. Gabe told me I was being stupid when I asked if it was true. I just wish he'd just be here for Christmas. And also maybe to understand why he's constantly moving us around. No one ever tells me anything. More than anything, though, I just want one holiday where we're all together like everyone else gets to have. Gabe thinks praying is a waste of time and I don't expect an answer or anything. But it's nice to think that there's someone out there listening. So if there is, could you please bring him home?"_ ~~

 

_~~Dean scowled. He recognized the names that had been mentioned. And if some kid knew both of those people... Things weren't looking promising. The archangel closed his eyes and focused on the his words.~~_

 

_~~It didn't take long to conjure an image of the speaker. A blue eyed kid kneeling by his bedside, alone in some motel room. There was the noise of water running in the bathroom, though there was no one in sight. He was far too young to be left alone. Nothing about the scene struck Dean quite right. Everything from the boy's ragged, oversized pajamas to his doe eyed face to the motel room that not even an adult ought to stay in. And then there was the matter of his soul.~~_

 

_~~It was unnaturally bright, which in itself wasn't unusual. Of course his soul would shine so brilliantly. It would have to, considering it inhabited the vessel of an archangel. It wasn't perfect and Dean was certain it'd only become more damaged in the coming years. And yet, between the rips and tears and stains brought on by demon blood, it was white. Pure white. That was the strange thing. Only infants had souls that color. With age, souls changed color and became worn and stained. There was absolutely no explanation for someone of his age to have such a pure soul. As far as he knew, it was virtually impossible. And yet, in front of him, there was living proof.~~_

 

_~~But if anyone cpuld do it, of course it would be Castiel Novak. Dean's heart ached for the unsuspecting child.~~_

 

~~_"What are you doing?" another young voice sounded as the speaker entered the room._ ~~

 

_~~This one wasn't Castiel. It belonged to an older boy staring at him with narrowed eyes. Gabriel, Dean instantly knew. It was strange to see them both so young when all he was familiar with were the depictions of their older selves. Castiel was far too human and not at all bloodthirsty. Gabriel was too thin, anger simmering just under the surface unlike his much holier image. Even his soul hadn't managed to stay as pure as his brothers. It was painfully ironic that Lucifer was to use Castiel as his vessel.~~_

 

~~_"Did you drop something or what?" Gabriel snorted, eyeing his brother._ ~~

 

~~_"Goodnight. Sorry, I mean amen," Castiel quickly rattled off as a farewell, cutting off the connection._ ~~

 

_~~Dean observed a moment longer as Castiel's older brother eyed him, snorted, then retreated back into the bathroom, hopefully to comb his mop of brown hair. Castiel glanced skywards one last time, then crawled into his bed.~~_

 

_~~And so things went on that way. Dean listened, though he didn't step in for a long while. The first time was several years later and it was only because Castiel was alone and afraid, his soul practically shrieking in search of help. Between a horrid case of the flu, their absent father, and a lack of money, Castiel's desperate cries had been enough to rouse him to take action. It hadn't taken much to speed along Gabriel's healing process. The payoff had been enough to encourage him to help when he could.~~_

 

_~~It wasn't as if Castiel asked for much. He was hardly the type to ask for confidence while asking someone out to a dance. His prayers were reserved more to seek aid in healing injuries, helping his family safely through hunts and the occasional plead for his father to wake up from his alcohol induced state.~~_

 

_~~He rationalized that it would be alright to interfere if someone was destined for such a fate. Dean could his early life as pleasant as a hunter's could be to compensate for his later years. And what was Dean there for anyways, if not to guard and protect his Father's creations?~~_

  
  
                On the sixty-third day of his corner of Hell in Heaven, Dean painstakingly tried to remember the days when his Father was still been present. Those were the days before everything went to Hell (Lucifer literally). Though those times were surrounded by a haze of fog, Dean missed those days. Dean longed for the times when magic lessons in the garden with Lucifer were commonplace and before the idea of humanity had even been conceived, before all the trouble started. He longed for the days before angels massacred each other while assigning blame, before their Father had left them to fend for themselves. He desperately missed running around Heaven, carefree. He missed pranking his brothers and the supposedly disapproving twitches of their Father's lips that were really smiles.

 

                 He'd been Heaven's resident trickster, long before Balthazar or anyone else took up the trait. He'd been the only one. And the more he looked back on it, the more apparent it became that he'd never been ordinary.

 

                 Though a bittersweet smile graced his lips at the memories, it was violently out of place. Considering his physical state, a smile should've been unheard of.

 

                  Heaven's messenger was a mess. There wasn't a square inch of flesh on him that hadn't taken some form of abuse. His skin was a rainbow of blacks, blues, purples, yellows, and greens. Blood stuck in various stages of drying clumped in his hair and hopelessly stained his tattered attire. Swollen extremities had contorted themselves in abnormal ways. His eyes were glassy, despite his smile. They lacked their usual twinkle, just glazed over . The once lively angel was unrecognizable, solemn and beaten as he was. He was recognizable only by his smile.

 

"This all seems familiar, doesn't it?"

 

                Michael's voice broke Dean from his daydreaming. The brief spell was broken, his face losing the first smile it'd had in weeks. The youngest archangel instinctively straightened, though he made no move to turn. When had Michael arrived? He could sense the oldest archangel's Grace now that he wasn't stuck in a blissful state of unawareness. Besides, he already knew who it was. There was no need to confirm it.

 

               And there always was the fact that Dean wasn't sure he could even keep a straight face if he saw his oldest brother.

 

"Finally decided to pay me a visit after Zach and the rest of them got me all warmed up?" Dean snarked.

 

                The younger angel hated the way his voice cracked. It wasn't because of emotion, though he supposed it sounded that way. Truth was, his voice had grown raspy from overuse and strain. It was a wonder he could even still speak at all.

 

"I've been busy," Michael lamely replied.

 

                That feeling of... wrongness, maybe? The uncertain feeling that had lived in the back of his mind only intensified. Something was wrong. He frowned, suspiciously narrowing his eyes. Eventually, he talked himself up into turning at his brother. Michael pointedly avoided his gaze, staring at someplace off in the distance.

 

"Oh, I'm sure. Failing to stop the apocalypse must be hard. You must be exhausted all the time, considering you're too tired to do so much as lift your lazy ass off your throne," he coldly replied. 

 

               What did he even have to lose at this point? Why not go out the way he came in- defiant and flawed?

 

               Michael glared at his brother, who ignored him with practiced ease. Dean eyed the extensive security of his prison to appear occupied. He'd memorized the ancient Enochian sigils keeping him trapped by now but he didn't know how to get past them. Obviously. But reading over them once more was still better than maintaining eye contact with Michael.

 

"All this security, just for me? I'm honored you think so highly of my skills," Dean eventually remarked.

 

                Michael, being the wet towel self, had no time or patience for small talk or banter. He heaved a sigh, abruptly skipping straight to the point.

 

"Dean... I don't want things to end this way. Don't make me do this," Michael warned.

 

                  Dean disbelievingly peered at his brother. A raspy laugh escaped his throat. He shook his head, bitterly smiling.

 

"Don't try to play that card. You don't have to do anything. Daddy's not here handing out orders anymore, you know. You're plenty capable of making your own choices. You just don't want to, so you live by an outdated rulebook. And who would want free will, honestly? After the first angel to flaunt it was cast out, beaten and bloodied? No one would want that with him for an example. It's easier to fall in line. But I made my choice and now you're going to have to make yours," he challenged.

 

                    Neither spoke for a long time. Dean was aware Michael wouldn't change his mind from whatever he had planned. Michael was many things, but a revolutionary was not one of them. He didn't accept change. Few angels did, and even fewer openly. 

 

                    Sam understood that. He'd been saying it for millennia. And even though Dean stopped the ramblings as soon as they started, he'd always understood that, too.

 

                    No. No, he wasn't normal and he probably never had been, but it was too late now. There was only one thing he could do now and he wasn't entirely confident that he'd succeed. 

 

"Am I cursed?" Dean eventually asked.

 

                     Michael remained silent.

 

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you? I'm not like the rest of them. Never have been. I pretended I was like the others. Even managed to convince myself that I just one of the crowd. But I'm not. I'm cursed to feel things, to doubt, all that human shit."

 

                  His brother was still stoic. Dean thought a moment longer, then made a thoughtful noise.

 

"I guess I can relate to humans. Maybe that's why He picked me to be the messenger," Dean drily suggested.

 

"Dean, I can't let this continue," Michael at last interrupted, voice heavier than Dean ever would've accounted for.

 

"Let what continue? According to the rulebook, Dad made me this way. It makes sense, doesn't it? Wouldn't going against his word make you a rulebreaker, too?"

 

"Do you think he made Lucifer the way he is, too?" Michael snapped, almost sending Dean recoilng. "There are rules. If they aren't enforced, Heaven will fall into anarchy. You've broken nearly all of them and I've always let it slide. I can't let you sidestep around them and give you special treatment anymore."

 

"Sure you can. I'm an archangel. Doesn't that give me immunity?" Dean retorted, humorlessly grinning.

 

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be," Michael sighed.

 

"Yeah, whatever, I get it. Laying down the law, huh? There's rules, sure. Doesn't mean they aren't bullshit, though," Dean replied, an edge to his words and smile.

 

                     The silence was profound. Dean felt Michael's piercing gaze burning holes into him. He stared across the expanse of the place that had once been his home and then lifted his eyes to hold his brother's stare.

 

                     Home. It was a strange word. It was even stranger to think that what was once his home was now his hell. Dean wasn't sure where his home was anymore, or if he even had one at all. All he knew was that it wasn't there. Anywhere but there.

 

"You know, Dean, you and Lucifer sound alike."

 

                    The youngest archangel took that like a punch to the gut. He jerked around. His stomach twisted. Michael stared at him, eyes hard. Dean gaped, at a loss for words. It was the first time he'd been rendered speechless in a long, long time. 

 

"You wouldn't be able to tell the difference," he finally hissed.

 

"What makes you say that?"

 

"You first," Dean quietly replied

 

                 Michael, realizing he wasn't going to get an answer unless he gave one first, sighed. Although the oldest angel looked away, Dean's burning stare never strayed. Whatever Dean was so diligently searching for in his brother, he failed to find. The air between them was tense, practically crackling.

 

"You remember the day Lucifer fell?"

 

                   It was phrased like a question, though Dean knew it wasn't. Of course he remembered the day that Lucifer fell. Everyone did. Even the youngest of fheir bunch. Dean was only one of few angels who just hadn't happened to be there.

 

                    He couldn't fight against his brother, yet he couldn't fight with him, either.

 

                     He liked humans and their company (just another thing that separated him from his brethren). They were fascinating creatures, endlessly complex. Their multitude of personalities and bold choices never failed to interest him. Dean had been intrigued with them from the start.

 

                   There was little variation to angels. Angels were predictable, just mindless soldiers. Humans were their own leaders, always questioning everything that he didn't, always evolving and advancing. Even though they hadn't yet been corrupted at the time, Dean had been partial to them from the start.

 

                      And if it had been any of his other brothers or sisters, he would've defended humanity without a second thought.

 

                     But it wasn't. It was Lucifer. Their father's favorite, the most glorious and charismatic angel in existence. Someone who'd earned the right to call himself Dean's brother.

   

                    The younger angel had listened to his brother's lessons and lectures for years without ever becoming bored. Lucifer was the one who throughly answered his pestering questions with a seemingly endless expanse of knowledge. Lucifer had tolerated and taught him for ages without any obligation. This was the brother Dean had idolized since he'd been created to defeat the Darkness. This was the brother that always made time for him, whose patience for him had no end. 

 

                    Dean couldn't fight him. So despite having watched the archangel's gradual corruption firsthand, Dean didn't fight. Lucifer was still his brother. It wasn't hard to convince himself that things would be fine. He'd thought he wouldn't need to interfere, that things would fix themselves. That his brother would revert to normal and everything would be alright.

 

                    So Dean had conveniently fled to Earth once things came to a head. He'd used his garrison as an excuse to avoid the battle. By the time he'd returned home, Lucifer had been thrown into Hell.

 

                    Dean told himself that his absence didn't matter, anyways. Even if he had convinced himself to stand against the older archangel, it wasn't like he would've dealt any damage. He'd have been defeated in moments. It was Lucifer who'd taught him how all his tricks, after all.

 

                Michael hadn't remained oblivious to some of those things. The things he did see painted a grim picture.

 

"You were close... before, and you were devastated after he fell. And now you've grown into a beacon for disobedience," Michael carefully explained, crafting his response delicately.

 

"What are you implying?"

 

"Lucifer was a big influence on you in your younger years. Many of our brothers and sisters who you mentor follow in his footsteps. I'm prepared to see you do the same."

 

                  Somehow, the words felt like a bigger betrayal than anything Sam or anyone else had ever done. Even worse than when without a word, his Father had left, not even bothering to even appear before him.

 

                  It was abandonment from all sides. Again. 

 

                  Dean said nothing. He wasn't even sure he was capable of replying.

 

"I can't take another risk like that. I'm sorry, Dean."

 

                    And then Dean exploded with all the anger of a raging archangel. 

 

"I'm not him! I didn't do any of this so that I could finish what he started! What, you think Anael and Sam rebelled so that they can destroy humanity?! All I've ever tried to do is protect what I care about. But since I've got a mind of my own, that means I've got to be wrong! An evil aberration that's got to be corrected. Lucifer's always going to be my brother and I love him, but there's a reason he's the one locked up in the Cage. Oh, and there's something else! Considering that he's such a monster, you'd think we were throwing him a welcome home party, seeing how many Seals we've let break! And those are only the ones I know about! How much ground have we lost while I've been up here?"

 

                 It was like... It was almost like... No. Dean cut off the thought before it could be finished.

 

                 Michael sighed, then faced away from his brother. It was then when Dean grasped the gravity that had fallen between them. Oh. _Oh._

 

"Dean, we're not trying to stop the Apocalypse."

 

                    Dean was certain he'd misheard. That couldn't be right. No. His eyes bored into his brother, flashing dangerously. Michael almost flinched beneath his icy gaze.

 

"What did you say?"

 

"We're welcoming the apocalypse. Lucifer will rise and I will defeat him to bring paradise."

 

                     If there were no barriers between them, Dean would've lunged forward and outright attacked the Viceroy of Heaven. He nearly did, before glancing down at the flames that licked dangerously close to his legs. The archangel settled for stalking towards his brother as close as he could, stopping directly in front of him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

 

                    Dean desperately wanted to dismiss the entire thing. But the sickening feeling that had been lying (mostly) dormant in the corners of his mind suddenly made sense. Everything clicked. He should've seen it.

 

                     He would've. He would've if he hadn't been so blinded by the faith he placed in his family. Sam had been right. Dean had gotten blindsided by his trust in his family. The family that had lied to him, manipulated him, tortured him...

 

                     That was the bigger picture Zachariah talked about. For a brief moment, a flood of memories flashed through his mind. They all told him the same thing- he should've known.

 

                    This was the reason why the angels allowed Castiel to continue drinking the blood, even though they pretended to be disgusted by it. It wasn't to strengthen Castiel's psychic abilities so he could stop the apocalpyse, but to strengthen him as a vessel. And Dean had been blindsided, blindsided by it all. 

 

                   Rage clouded his vision.

 

"You- you... you son of a bitch!" he acidly spat.

 

                   Michael opened his mouth to issue a harsh reprimand to the younger angel. He was immediately interrupted.

 

"No. Shut up, you jerkass! Let me speak and tell you something for once. I trusted you! I followed you! And, yeah, I broke your damn rules, but I never plotted against you! I did everything you told me to do! And this is what I get? I tried to follow all your orders, no matter how stupid I thought they were! I was never like any of you, not really, I get it now. I denied it, shoved and pushed it down for the sake of being normal! I trusted you. You're supposed to be my brother! I was loyal to you, even when we disagreed. I wasn't ever like you, but I still tried to be. And this is all that I get? You to lie to me so that I can unknowingly help you destroy the Earth and the people living there?!"

 

"If this is about Castiel-," Michael evenly begun.

 

"Fuck you, Michael," Dean cut in. "Just... fuck you. You know, I finally get why dad left. I would've skipped out on us if I were him too. I can't stand any of you right now, either. Just look at us- turning on each other. You willingly freeing the exact thing that made him ditch us in the first place. You want to get into a pissing match that's going to cost half the Earth and a fuckton of casualties? And, what? Does everyone know except me? Is everyone going along with it?"

 

                  Michael didn't reply, which Dean took as an answer.

 

"Yeah. I can see why he liked humanity better," he responded, sneering contemptuously. 

 

                   Dean waited, wished that Michael would quit staring at him that way and saying something already.

 

"And all that's just hypothetical, assuming you let out Luci and you manage to convince the prick that's Gabriel Novak to say yes to you. What then? You can't guarantee a win. What happens if you lose?"

 

"Do you doubt me?" Michael snapped. 

 

"When don't I doubt you?! I just told you that I've always doubted you! And I followed you anyways! So trust me when I say that this entire plan is made up of varying degrees of goddamned bullshit!" Dean shouted, savoring Michael's flinch at his profanity, "And I use the term "plan" loosely. So get this. Yeah, I doubt you! If you're stupid enough to let him out, then you're stupid enough to lose!"

 

"Who's going to stop it? A couple of broken humans and two atrocious excuses for angels?" Michael coldly laughed.

 

                    Dean barked out a low laugh. His eyes glinted, narrowed into deadly slits.

 

"Michael, if you lay a hand on them, either of them, I swear to God that I'll kill you myself."

 

"Brother..." Michael growled.

 

"No. No. Don't you fucking dare to call me that. You're not my brother. Not anymore. We've got pretty different definitions of family. And you certain as hell aren't family to me. So you can go to hell, Michael."

 

                    Michael sighed.

 

"I didn't want to do this."

 

"Fuck off," was all that Dean snarled in return.

 

                    The older archangel gave Dean one last look. The younger of the pair returned his look of something close like sadness with one of unparalleled rage and betrayal.

 

                     Then the flames burning around Dean exploded into the air before burning out entirely. Several angels came at him from both sides, each restraining him. Dean struggled violently against them as Michael approached. One of them pressed two fingers against his forehead and he went numb and still. He could only helplessly watch as his the oldest archangel approached him, dread building inside of him. His brother- no, the elder of the pair only gazed at him with something akin to regret. Not that he even knew what it was. He couldn't know. 

 

                    Dean knew what regret was. He knew regret and regret was what he felt when he thought about Castiel and Sam and his friends in the garrison and even Gabriel.

 

                    Michael's piercing gaze was the last thing Dean saw before his hand stabbed inside of him. Then, there was only brilliant white and distant screaming.

  
  
                   And then he was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_"You, celestial being, have been created to be an angel of the Lord."_

 

                   Oh. Interesting. He tried to focus in on the internal dialogue, when-

 

_"Are you there?"_

 

                   He blinked. It was a good question. A better question was why someone asked why there was a voice was hardwired to speak straight into his throbbing skull. Was that normal?

 

_"Dean?"_

 

                   He frowned. Dean. What was Dean? Was he Dean?

 

                   He cudgeled his brain, trying to gather any scraps of information he could find. Dean. Yes, that was right. He was Dean. The voice on the other hand... it was familiar.

 

_"I guess not. Sam said you were almost certainly dead. Or worse. I'd like to believe you're still alive, although I have no reason to at this point. If you are alive, then you either have no way to return or to contact us or you simply don't care. I wish I knew what became of you."_

 

                  Sam- no, Samuel. Just hearing the name made his vision flash with red. He unknowingly clenched his fists, gritting his jaw. Samuel. Through the haze of his memories, Samuel was someone he remembered clearly. Fury crept through every inch of his being, burning him with its venom. His knuckles turned white and even started popping before he managed to relax his grip.

 

                   And if this person knew Samuel, then there was only one person it could be.

 

" _Castiel?"_ Dean retorted within the confines of his mind.

 

"Dean?" the voice replied, taken aback and startled.

 

" _Get_ _out_ of _my_ _head_ ," Dean snarled.

 

" _I_ _don't_   _understand_. _What's wrong?"_

 

                    Dean scowled. The fucking nerve. God, he wanted to friggin' disembowel him. What was wrong? How the hell could Castiel even ask that?

 

                   The archangel didn't reply. Instead, he sent the nastiest mental barrage of attacks he could conjure. His reward came in the form of a raw, pained screaming. Colors flashed across his vision, though he wasn't sure whether they came from his rage or Castiel's agony. The connection between him and Castiel severed abruptly after that. It felt strange. A phantom limb that wasn't actually there, though the feeling of it still remained. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

"Dean? Are you listening to me?"

 

                   That last voice was not inside his head and it was certainly not an atrocious human. It came from elsewhere, somewhere outside him. Dean turned around. He was met with the steely gaze and face of the speaker. A familiar face, but his name and who exactly he was evaded him.

 

"I'm Michael."

 

                   Dean blinked, then nodded. Yeah, he knew Michael. Michael was his loyal brother, a fellow angel. It was only that his remembrance of Heaven's faithful leader was delayed for whatever reason. What exactly was wrong with his memory? The more he wracked his brain for answers, the fuzzier certain things got. The hazy memories disappeared entirely after a brief struggle. It didn't take much longer after that for Dean to forget that anything had ever been wrong in the first place.

 

"Hello," Dean greeted his brother after shaking off the remnants of the strange feeling from the back of his mind.

 

"I'm your brother," Michael added after lack of any sort of reaction.

 

"Yeah. I know."

 

                   Clearly Dean wasn't very talkative anymore. Michael faltered to see if Dean might add anything else. He didn't, so the elder archangel pressed onwards.

 

"Do you know who you are?"

 

                A loyal servant to Heaven and his faithful family. Not the rogue, serpentine angels that he was tasked with hunting down. Like Samuel, for example.

 

"Yes."

 

"Do you know who you serve?"

"God."

 

 

"Right. You serve God and the needs of Heaven."

 

                  Not humanity, not Sam, and certainly not Castiel.

 

"Yes."

 

                  Dean grew increasingly snappy with his responses to the interrogation. Michael glared at his impatience by the end, prompting him to avert his gaze and mumble an apology. His brother studied him only a moment longer, then moved onto another question.

 

"Do you know who Castiel is?"

 

                    Dean's eyes narrowed into slits. His stomach churned. Thinking about him alone made him sick. He was lucky Castiel was important to the work of the angels or Dean would've driven himself to divine intervention.

 

"Yes," he said, spitting the word as thought like the knowledge disgusted him. And it did indeed.

 

                 Michael watched him carefully. There was no trace of a smile, no flash of fondness gracing his cold green eyes. There was nothing. His voice sounded just as dead when he spoke. It would've unsettled the elder angel and speared him with doubt, had he been familiar to either sensation.

 

"Do you know his purpose?"

 

                  Of course Dean did. It was seared into his brain, like all the other necessary information. Castiel was Lucifer's true vessel. Gabriel was Michael's vessel, obviously, being Castiel's older brother.

 

                  Serving as a vessel to Lucifer? It was a fate Castiel deserved. The toll of it would be better than any sort of torture Dean could come up with, at least.

 

                  Otherwise, Dean knew nothing else about him. Not that there had ever been anything there to remember in the first place, Dean reminded himself. Right. They'd met briefly before, primarily so that Dean could personally manipulate him. That was where he'd been not too long ago, his most recent memory. How he'd gotten here, though...

 

             Dean loved him no more.

 

             He'd clung on, clung on so hard. But his grip had at last slipped and he was gone, gone and slipped away and he didn't even know it. He didn't know who he was or who he'd been, he just was. Was there to serve, was there to do what he was always supposed to do, not a care about the collateral he was to cause. 

 

"Yes," he replied, tone as dead as the spark that had once lived in his eyes.

 

"Good. It's your job to get him to consent. He's resistant to the idea, but he should trusts your guidance enough for you to coax him into it."

 

                  Dean nodded. The flames around him quelled until they burned out entirely. He couldn't remember why exactly they were there, but he quickly dismissed it as being unimportant. He glanced to his brother, who gave him an approving nod. Then, Dean was engulfed with light. When it dimmed, he was gone. Michael watched the space his brother had occupied. There had been no snarky remark for a farewell, none of his usual sarcastic smiles. There had been only been compliance and a seriously twisted grin. It was the way things were supposed to be. That still didn't lessen the twist of his stomach.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on an airplane while doing a Dean Winchester freak out because it started storming and shit and we were turbulencing and I was writing my will simultaneously. I'm dead. So, I'm going camping for a week, which means I'm going to be completely offline and incapable of updating or writing. Which sucks. I'll be back ASAP with another update. Thanks so much for sticking with me! And I'm so sorry. So sorry. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean returns with a perfect Ken Doll smile and Sam has a very wide emotional range for a drunken angel.

 

                Gabriel was going to kill Sam. Assuming that the angel wasn't dead already, that was.

 

                It seemed more and more likely, given that he'd been completely absent for two months and counting. Those dates incidentally aligned perfectly with the day that Dean had mentally kicked Castiel in the face. As much as Gabriel tried to, he couldn’t keep the increasingly less positive thoughts from intruding into his mind. Was that it? Was Sam just gone? Dead? Chained up and dying somewhere in Heaven?

 

                He needed answers, but yet no one seemed to be listening. So for maybe the thousandth time, Gabriel was doing his best to pray. His best wasn’t much nowadays, though. The hunter was worn, tired, and mostly faithless as of the late. Still, he tried.

 

"Hey, Sam. Quick question. Where the hell are you and why the hell aren’t you answering the angel prayer radio? C’mon. I know I’ve got the right frequency."

 

                Nothing.

 

                Fine. Gabriel was tired of being civilized, anyways.

 

"Listen to me, you feathered dick- I don't give a flying fuck that you've got a life outside of guarding us or whatever, but it doesn’t take that much to drop in or to leave a message so we know you’re alive."  


                Still nothing.  


"Fine. Be that way. I swear, though; I'm going to sext you through prayer if you don't answer me. Which would be kind of ironic, actually. I’m pretty sure that’s not what God made prayer for."

 

                More silence.  


"I'm not screwing around, Sam,” Gabriel remarked, the jesting tone replaced by something almost fearful.  


When there came no answer in the next seconds, Gabriel did his best to project the sauciest image of himself he could conjure. It was mostly a joke, a last-ditch effort to draw some sort of reaction. And it was kind of funny, actually (though there was a wasted prophet somewhere who was definitely arguing otherwise).  


                     The hunter conjured up another a minute after. This one added an improbably flexible Sam to the mix.

 

                     When there still came no response, Gabriel flew into a stream of curses out of frustration. 

 

"If that's not going to get your attention, then absolutely nothing will."

 

                Gabriel had almost begun an apology speech or something, because he was pretty sure Hallmark didn’t sell apology cards for inadvertent murder in stores. He didn’t have the chance, though. That wasn’t probably a bad thing anyways, seeing as his monologue was going to be something sarcastic and shitty- two words that he was pretty much sure summed up his entire personality.

 

"You really need to stop making jokes about bells ringing and where you’d like to put them. Strangers give me uncomfortable looks when I ask them to explain your jokes,” a very displeased angel murmured in a strained voice. “Also, please never do that again. I’m in public and people seem to think I’ve had some sort of seizure."  


"Sam?” the hunter asked in what he refused to admit was a squeak of a voice.

 

                   While Gabriel had been aware he was running the risk of being heard, he hadn't really taken into consideration that Sam might've actually been listening. He had been vaguely sure that Sam was dead, after all. Or that he’d simply stopped caring and wouldn’t be heard from again.

 

"Yes? You’ve got my attention,” Sam prompted him after the human gave no sign of having heard.

 

                   Gabriel wasn't the sort to blush, but the crimson creeping up his neck said otherwise.  


"Oh, wait. Is there where I’m supposed to say something like- “Oh, don't stop on my behalf?” Or has the moment already passed?”  


"I don’t think you even know what you mean.”

 

"It’s a flirtation, right?”

 

“Yeah. I don’t think you know what that is.”

 

“I do. But the moment passed, didn’t it?”

 

                Sam groaned with annoyance, downing another row of shots. Goddamn timing was everything.

 

“So, you’re flirting… with _me_?” Gabriel disbelievingly asked, trying to get solid clarification.

 

“I’ve been trying to for the last year, but thanks for noticing," Sam wryly replied.

                                                                                         

                Gabriel was thankfully saved from replying when Sam made an unhappy groaning noise, followed by the sound of something slamming into something else.

 

“Jesus, Sam, are you alright?”

 

“My head feels heavy, so I decided to rest it on the table,” Sam grumbled in reply.

 

“You’re not making much sense right now. What’s wrong? Are you in danger?”

 

“Possibly. Mostly in danger of emptying my stomach’s contents. I feel unwell. I regret that last bottle of flavored vodka, Gabriel.”

 

“You’re… _drunk_?” Gabriel incredulously asked.

 

“I am very intoxicated.” Sam downright giggled, a grin splitting his face in half at the sheer incredulity of it. A drunken angel. He really had fallen from grace. He stood in an effort to make his way back to the bar, though he heavily fell down when a wave of nausea hit him. “Humans glorify drinking too much. Drunkenness looked much better in the paintings,” he bitterly muttered.

 

“Something’s got to be wrong if you’re drinking. Seriously wrong if you’re drinking _flavored vodka_. It’s alcohol for people who hate alcohol. It’s literally toxic sugary shit. Why the hell are you even smashed in the first place?”

 

“Falling has brought me closer to humans, if nothing else. Some of their mannerisms have rubbed off onto me. You drink when you have a problem. So I did too. Besides, I like the fruit here. I didn’t know they grew fruit in alcohol flavor. And the berry kind dyed my blue mouth,” the angel loopily answered.

 

                Gabriel chose not to point out that Sam seemed to have no idea what was coming out of his mouth.

 

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

 

“My old friends are all trying to kill me, I’m wanted and on the run, I’m always tired, my brother’s probably going to be brainwashed into killing me if they don’t kill him first, and you don’t remember shit because they gave you fucking amnesia,” the angel listed, growing increasing hostile as he spoke.

 

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“See? You don’t even remember. Amnesia,” Sam concluded.

 

“You’re going to have to explain it to me.”

 

“Alternatively, I could just not.”

 

“What?”

 

“I plan on sitting here intoxicated without thinking about things I care about because everything I care about gets screwed up or dies.” There was the telltale sound of liquor pouring over the phone line before Sam spoke again, this time in a more lighthearted tone. “Huh. I’m going to brood some now, too.”

 

“Sam,” Gabriel murmured in what was supposed to be a soothing, rational tone.

 

“I’m an angel. You can’t make me do anything,” the elder of the two said in what might’ve been an amusingly childish tone used elsewhere.

 

“I deserve to-,” Gabriel begun, cut off once more.

 

“No. I’ve given up every possible thing I could for you- to keep you safe. I’ve given up more than you’ll ever know. I’ve had to kill my brothers and sisters for you. I gave up everything and so far. And I still don’t regret it, even though it’s been for absolutely nothing so far. So you listen to me. I don’t owe you anything. If I don’t want to talk about something, I’m not going to. End of story.”

 

                He’d tried. And they’d all be damned if Gabriel Novak ever tried to push someone into talking about their feelings.

 

“Did you know that they made whipped cream vodka?” Sam remarked.

 

“You’re not going to drink it, right?”

 

“I already did. All of it.”

 

“That’s going to taste a hell of a lot worse coming back up, Sam,” Gabriel warned.

 

“It tasted like ass going down.”

 

                Gabriel sighed. Obviously they were getting nowhere. He could at least take amusement knowing that Sam’s ever failing grace was going to have a difficult time disposing of an unknown quantity of liquor. Hell, he’d probably be left with a worse hangover than Gabriel after the Vegas incident of ’01. He wondered if Sam knew about that. He hoped not.

 

“Oh, you’re going to have a fun hangover,” Gabriel commented when he realized Sam was still there, still inhaling copious amounts of fermented fruits.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“So it’s a surprise. That makes it even better.”

 

“I like surprises,” Sam absentmindedly commented.

 

“This one’s going to hit you like a train. Where are you, anyways?”

 

“I don’t really know. I strongly dislike the people here. They’re rude. Does that help any?”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“They refused to sell me alcohol because I lacked a license. Apparently being an angel isn’t enough qualification.”

 

“You said that?” the elder Novak inquired, laughing at the imagery alone.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Look, do you know where I am?”

 

“Of course I do. I’m an angel, you ass,”

 

“Just zap yourself back here. You can still do that, right?”

 

“It’s best if I don’t. I forgot that I wasn’t even supposed to talk with you- been keeping you on mute. Don’t know if they can track you this way. Only reason I bothered to answer was ‘cause you caught me off-guard so much.”

 

“What the hell happened to you, Sam?”

 

“A lot. So, if we’re done here, I’m going to get more vodka.”

 

                Gabriel sighed.

 

“Fine. Drink yourself off your ass. But when you come down from your high with a killer hangover, the offer’s still on the table.”

 

“Am I going to have to answer questions?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I think I’m going to stick with my original plan.”

 

                Then the invisible line between them snapped.

 

 

* * *

  

                Heat bled from the ground straight through the soles of Castiel’s shoes. The cracked, dusty ground of the parking lot was packed tightly beneath his feet. The air hung thick and stagnant, draining the energy from everything it touched. Even the flies remained motionless when he trod by.

 

                As Gabriel had so eloquently put it that morning, it was hot as balls.

               

                And that might’ve been alright if they were in Southern Texas in the dead of summer, not South Dakota at the start of winter. 

 

                Castiel paused in front of the grimy door to the bar to take a moment to consider whether this was as bad of an idea as it seemed. He briefly dwelled on of whether or not his inherited lack of common sense had grown so great that he needed to start popping some kind of pill.

 

                In the end, he dramatically flung the door open and marched into the bar. The possibility that he was potentially about to get jumped by a bar full of demons was pushed somewhere far further back in his mind than it should’ve. Even though the hot metal of his gun stuck his hip- an ever persistent reminder of the potential danger lurking nearby- he somehow inferred he wouldn’t need it. Maybe his brain cells had all just been killed off by the heat.

 

                There wasn’t much business. That was to be expected though, considering it was midafternoon and the heat wave that had sapped the life from the town’s residents.

 

The outdated air conditioning unit struggled to keep pace with the ever rising temperature. Its sputtering was the only sound in the nearly empty bar. Everyone else hung their heads quickly, resigned to their embarrassingly colored frozen drinks in a stagnant sort of silence.

 

                No one even noticed him walk in, except for a single man in the corner. He was the only one who seemed not to have fallen victim to the sluggishness brought on by the heat- alert eyes scanning him in an instant. His lips twisted as he stared at Castiel.

 

Green eyes met Castiel’s own blue ones.

 

It wasn’t just because of the heat that the hunter felt himself melt. Just a bit, though. Not that he’d ever say that out loud- much less to his brother.

 

“Dean?” Castiel asked in a whisper of a tone that still managed to hold all the roaring rage of an extremely pissed hunter.

 

                Dean silenced him with a pointed stare. After a scan of their surroundings, he gave a tight nod and signaled for the hunter to join him. Castiel slowly trudged across the room and sat in the booth seat him.

 

The archangel wordlessly eyed him with vapid eyes. The man found himself incapable of words, torn somewhere between kissing him and slapping the shit out of him.

 

“You look good,” Dean cordially observed, allowing no trace of emotion into his words.

 

                Castiel narrowed his eyes into a deep squint. He blinked, half-expecting that the man sitting across from him would vanish into nothing each time he did. When he didn’t, Castiel had no idea where to go from there.

               

                The archangel in front of him didn’t particularly remind Castiel of Dean.

 

He didn’t seem like himself. The hunter saw that instantly, and not just because of how he looked. His suit had about as many layers as a wedding cake, for one. And then there was the untouched glass of iced whiskey sitting in front of him, condensation trailing down the sides of the glass as if it’d been there a long time. His smile was creepy, almost like the one painted onto the face of a porcelain doll.

 

He wore dark slacks, a white Oxford shirt, a light gray vest, and a charcoal colored jacket. They were all freshly ironed, crisp and without a single crease. His dark green tie complimented his eyes and his meticulously parted hair made him look like someone straight out of photo shoot. Not that Castiel was complaining, of course.

 

                It was just that Dean looked uncomfortable and uptight and there was something vacant and predatory in his eyes when he looked at Castiel. It made him uneasy.

               

                The shorter of the two tried for a smile. It came out looking like he had a knife to his neck.

 

“You said you were dead,” he numbly remarked.

 

“I had a backup plan. An archangelic secret backdoor. Carved it out a long time ago when Sam started talking and wouldn’t stop. Just didn’t think it’d work when I needed it to.”

 

                Dean’s tight grin never faded, even when he spoke.

 

                Castiel was far too submerged in silent rage to notice such a fine detail, though. His own grin, carved into his face like a pumpkin should’ve made anyone else run away fearing for their life.

 

“And you thought this unimportant to share for what reason?” the hunter asked in a low growl of a voice, his eyes blazing brighter than the infernos of Hell.

 

“I wasn’t going to get your hopes up. I thought I was a dead man. If I’d told you there was a chance I could’ve escape, you might’ve believed that it was still me if I came back.”

 

                Castiel leaned backwards so that he wouldn’t fly over the table to throttle him. Or to embrace him- but being pissed came first. He was trapped in a whirlwind of emotions with no way to calm down. They could make up for lost time later. Preferably in a place out of the public eye.

 

“Castiel?” Dean eventually asked, trying to regain the hunter’s lost attention.

 

“There was no better way to go about announcing your return than by shadily texting me coordinates from an unknown number?”

 

“It was the most discreet way to contact you. Unless angels’ve started taking classes at community college, none of ‘em can even turn on a friggin’ phone.”

 

“How long have you been out?”

 

“Couple days. Needed to make sure I wasn’t being trailed before I found you. I apologize.”

 

“Sam’s already aware of this, right?”

 

                Dean fought to keep a straight face. Of course Sam wouldn’t be- not until it was too late for him to act against the family he’d betrayed. He couldn’t let Castiel onto that, though. The misguided atrocity was on what he thought was another path, trying to be a trailblazer even though he’d always end up right back where he’d started.

 

“No. I was hoping that you would have a pin on his whereabouts. I’ve been unsuccessful in locating him,” came the practiced reply.

 

“Gabriel hasn’t heard from him in months.” Castiel paused, inhaling sharply. It was a grim possibility, but it was one that someone needed to consider. “Are you certain he’s not… well, dead?”

 

                Dean made a dissatisfied noise, his arm snaking out to drain his glass in one sip. He slammed the glass down too loudly. Castiel flinched at the sudden noise, feeling the few lazy eyes shooting over to their corner. He hoped they hadn’t overheard any of their conversation.

 

“I would know if he’d been killed,” the archangel nonchalantly answered.

 

“I’m certain he’ll return once he hears you’re back,” Castiel absentmindedly murmured, inspecting all the patrons like he might be know if there was a spying angel among them.

 

“I know he would- and that’s part of the problem.  Sam can’t know of this conversation. Neither can Gabriel. Not yet.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It’s a shitty situation, Cas. It’s delicate and keeping the balance on everything isn’t going to be easy. So Sam can’t know that I’ve escaped. If he does, he’ll come looking for me.”

 

“You expect me not to tell him that his brother isn’t dead?” Castiel deadpanned.

 

His stare had turned critical, almost worried. Dean slammed down his drink. He replied with a sheepishly mumbled,

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Sam will come looking for me if he knows I’m alive. I don’t- I don’t know if they really let me get away, Cas. I could just be bait for them for all I know. I need to make sure I’m not being trailed before I meet up with anyone on Heaven’s most wanted list.”

 

“And Gabriel?”

 

“You don’t honestly think Gabriel could keep a secret like that from his precious angel, do you?” Dean asked, carefully keeping the venom away from his words.

 

                It took Castiel another drink without a word spoken between them to stomach the prospect.

 

“Alright,” he consented in a troubled breath.

 

“Thank you, Castiel,” the archangel murmured, trying to visibly relax.

 

                Dean reached his hand across the table, clasping Castiel’s in his own. The hunter froze at the gesture, his brain pretty much short-circuiting. He was holding hands with an archangel. An archangel who he’d kissed. Multiple times. There was no urgency now- no threat of death looming above their heads, no need for some confession between them before their time ran out.

               

                Castiel wasn’t sure why it still felt wrong. His hand was like a furnace against his own, the pad of his thumb brushing softly across the back of the hunter’s hand and yet it all felt wrong.

               

                Dean shared the sentiment- it was all wrong. The mere touch alone made his skin crawl- filled him with the need to be cleansed, to wash and scrub his vessel’s hand until the skin was raw. The human didn’t notice his visible disgust in his deep state of thought.

 

                Now that the urge to slap the shit out of him had diminished enough to think properly, Castiel was teeming to the brim with questions. They were all pressing. It took him the minutes in which another drink was served to him to pick out the most urgent.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

                His voice came out quiet, concerned. Dean said nothing at first. It was hard to believe that they had some sort of history- magical, even, considering how he felt about the human in the first place. Apparently this mission- his mission- had been going on longer than he’d thought. And it’d all been going smoothly enough until Sam had rebelled, beaten him, warped his mind until it felt like he was starting over from scratch.

 

                Sam should’ve expected that Dean would come back to right the wrongs, of course. A wrong like the one where Sam continued to be alive and breathing. Dean would fix that with time.

 

“The God squad tried to fix me. Think they just screwed me up even worse. That’s why I attacked you, a few months back. I lashed out in anger and confusion. And I’m sorry for that,” Dean replied, lying easily though the apologetic smile his teeth made. He glanced away. “I don’t want to talk much about it. You couldn’t understand some of the things they did,” he replied, his response rehearsed.

 

“Of course,” Castiel murmured. “Just know if you need anyone to speak with, I’m always available.”

 

                Dean tried for a smile that looked a little less like he wanted to melt Castiel’s face off. He was fairly sure he succeeded, seeing some of the tension leave the human’s face.

 

                The archangel strategically moved on to the next matter, though he put on a good of a show as he could. A tight grimace, averted eyes, and withdrawing his hand from Castiel’s seemed to do the trick.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I need you to do another favor for me. It’s a big one. You’re… you’re not going to like it.”

 

“If there’s any way I can help, I ought to know.”

 

                Dean sighed, pretending to not quite be able to meet Castiel’s eyes. Internally, he was simply pissed. There was plenty Castiel could do to help him. Not being such a whiny little bitch, for one. Maybe make his job easier and quit fighting destiny so that the angels could get their show on the road all that much sooner. The archangel fought to keep the bile from rising in his throat.

 

“You’ll need to call that demon you were feeding off of.”

 

                Castiel choked on his drink. He spent the following minute hacking up whiskey from his lungs. Dean would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t grinned.

 

“What for?”

 

“The pieces have already been set in motion. It’s looking more and more likely that Lucifer’s going to be sprung from down under. Lilith’s ready to crack open the final seal pretty soon if we can’t stop her. And if you want any shot at ganking her- or Lucifer, if he gets out, then you’ve gotta be ready.”

 

“You think that I could overpower Lilith? Lucifer, even?”

 

“Yeah, I do. I believe in you, Castiel. It’s not going to pretty, but that’s about the only thing I’ve got right now. And when it’s all over, you can be healed. Cleansed.”

 

“You can?” Castiel asked, that familiar flicker of hope that always refused to die out shining within his soul.

 

“I’m an archangel. There’s basically nothing I can’t do.”

 

                Castiel clenched his jaw, chewing on nothing but air. His face was conflicted. Dean could see it. Castiel believed his intentions were pure. That his heart was in the right place, just maybe that his mind wasn’t. To the archangel, it seemed glaringly apparent that neither his heart nor his head were anywhere near the right place.

                                                                                                                         

“Sam’s… aware of whenever I participate in that activity, though. He’ll tell Gabriel when he notices. What then?”

 

                What was it about the power of archangels that Castiel continuously failed to grasp?

 

“I can make it incognito. They won’t notice,” Dean sighed. “I don’t like it either, but it is what it is. If Lucifer walks free, then this is the only way to get rid of him for good.”

 

                It was all so logical, so carefully crafted. Dean knew exactly what to say, exactly what words would manipulate Castiel. His mind was so simple, so beneath his own. He was predictable. Dean was not at all shocked when Castiel downed the rest of his glass with a flinch, then nodded.

 

“I trust you.”

 

                Castiel had put up a valiant fight. He really had. But he’d never really had a chance to begin with. And it was the meaning behind those three truthful words were his demise- it was just that Dean saw that long before he ever would.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Gabriel woke up to the sound of vomiting. That ranked somewhere far above waking up naked splayed across an altar- that had truly been a horrible morning that his mind frequently liked to relive. But yet it was also well below his preferred thing to wake up- the scent of bacon, eggs, and cake.

 

                It struck him that it wasn’t actually morning after a few terrifying moments of laying confused in the darkness. He rolled over and tossed his blankets aside. The clock on his bedside read three.

 

                Based on the wafting aroma of vomit, it seemed like the scent had fermented for a while. Maybe an hour.

 

“Fuck. Cas, I swear to God, if that’s you, I’m coming after you with an axe,” Gabriel shouted, yanking his pillow over his face.

 

                There was more retching, the sound of the entire counter being ungracefully cleared by some stray limb and then a hiss of pain.

 

“Please be quiet,” came a breath of a voice in return.

 

“Sam?” Gabriel asked, far louder than necessary as he flicked on the lights.

 

                His answer came in the form of every lightbulb in the room shattering into glass shards, narrowly missing him as they rained down. Gabriel grinned. He was going to get all the pleasure out of this that he could.

 

“So, was I right?” the elder Novak vociferously asked.

 

“I’m never touching vodka again,” Sam mumbled.

 

                Gabriel stood, finding his way to the bathroom in the dark based on scent alone. Sam leaned over the toilet, supporting himself with the granite countertop. He glanced to Gabriel with bleary eyes with dark circles beneath them. His hand was sticking in all direction like a rogue porcupine had nested atop his head. The hunter laughed, only silenced by a threatening glare.

 

“I regret everything. Everything’s so bright. And loud,” he bitterly commented. “And-!”

 

                Sam doubled over the toilet again, sputtering out whatever alcohol that was left in his system.

 

“Christ. You need a shower,” the man replied when the angel resurfaced with a sickened moan.

 

“I don’t. I’m fine.”

 

“Actually, you do. You smell like a dive bar.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“Tobacco, blood, vomit, and alcohol mixed in with despair and desperation.”

 

                Gabriel tried taking a step closer, but the smell alone scent him reeling backwards.

 

“Shit. A kid could get drunk just by breathing alone if they stood next to you. It’s shrouding you. You could weaponized that, Sam. No one’s going near you unless you clean the hell up.”

 

                Sam mumbled something under his breath with a scowl.

 

“Fine. I’ll just… mojo myself clean. Whatever you call it.”

 

“Actually, no. You’re going to take an actual shower like a real human being.”

 

“But I’m not.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re on that path. And you’re not going to be a completely helpless toddler stuck in the body of a college linebacker if it happ0ens. Besides, you’ll love it. It’s great.”

 

“The only thing I’ve ever bathed in is the blood of my enemies,” the taller of the two idly remarked, thoughtfully tilting his head.

 

                Gabriel laughed at first. Upon seeing Sam’s confused expression, he made a face.

 

“That’s a joke, right?”

 

“No. Why would it be?”

 

“Never mind. You’re showering.”

 

“I don’t know how. Are you going to show me?” Sam questioned.

 

                Gabriel nearly dismissed the statement as another one of the angel’s cluelessly innocent comments. It was only when he recalled Sam’s drunken conversation from earlier that he paused and faced the angel.

 

“Are you screwing with me?” the hunter asked through narrowed eyes.

 

                Sam narrowed his gaze, perplexedly tilting his head.

 

“I’m… not sure what you want me to say.” He eyed Gabriel’s unamused face. “No?”

 

“You keep flopping back and forth between flirting and pretending like you’ve got no idea what’s coming out of either of our mouths. Pick a lane, Sam.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Generally, this is the point where a regular person would explain or somehow show what they picked,” the elder Novak filled in when Sam remained quiet.

 

“I’m acquainted with flirtations and their use. I don’t know what some of them actually mean, though. Some of the things I say are unknowingly perceived in a different way than what I intend. Dean told me that was about what the angels meant when they talked about the corrupted human mind.”

 

                The hunter hid the grin tugging at his face. No. He was supposed to be pissed over something. But Sam was giving him that puppy-eyed stare that Gabriel was sure had some kind of emotion-inducing angel mojo laced in it.

 

                Damnit. Now he’d forgotten why he was even pissed in the first place.

 

“Who taught you about flirting, anyways? Dean?”

 

“Someone that I used to know,” Sam absently answered.

 

                It took Sam three seconds to double over and vomit more, much to Gabriel’s dismay.

 

“My God,” Gabriel retorted with a roll of his eyes, leaving the bathroom to flop back onto his bed. “Hurry up and take your shower.”

 

                The elder Novak rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers over his head. The hunter stayed there, pondering where he’d screwed up so badly that he’d ended up with a hungover angel showering in his motel bathroom. Castiel would probably find that amusing.

 

                Where was Cas, anyways? The damn kid had disappeared hours ago. Maybe he’d found somewhere else to stay the night. Kid could probably use a little stress relief, honestly.

 

                Gabriel grabbed his phone, only to find he had no texts from his missing brother. While slightly bothersome, his brotherly danger detector wasn’t tingling. He tossed his phone back onto the nightstand and buried himself back between the sheets.

 

“Gabriel? I turned the knob, but the water got too hot. How do I fix it?”

 

                The hunter groaned in response, threw off his covers, and sat up, ready for a demonstration on how to adjust water temperature.

 

“There’s two of- JESUS CHRIST, WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?” Gabriel shrieked, ungracefully jerking and falling off the side of the bed in a tangle of sheets.

 

                This was not happening. He was dreaming that there was a fully undressed, dripping wet angel standing in the bathroom doorway. This was a dream. God, he hoped it was a dream.

 

                The thing about dreams was that they were over when they were over. Real life didn’t quite work out that way.

 

“You don’t bathe in clothing. I left it on the floor.”

 

“YOU DON’T WALK AROUND NAKED, EITHER!” Gabriel yelped.

 

                Eyes. Away. Now.

 

                His gaze wasn’t quite cooperating with the orders sent out from his short-circuiting mind.

 

                Very attractive. Muscled. Sizably proportioned all over.

 

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” Sam asked, like that was a possibility he hadn’t even considered,

 

                Nope, not a dream.

 

                Sam was significantly less clueless in his dreams and infinitely more suave. And knowledgeable, for that matter.

 

“Yes,” Gabriel screeched in reply, his voice about two octaves too high. And it did, just not for the reason Sam was probably thinking. He finally tore his gaze away and after a long pause, the elder Novak forcedly questioned, “You decent?”

 

“Yes.”

 

                Gabriel stood up, mustering all the dignity he could considering that his face was the hue of a cherry and that he’d been defeated by a set of sheets.

 

“Sam, you better never a word about this to Cas. Or anyone else. Ever.”

 

“Why aren’t we supposed to talk about it?”

 

“Because Cas has what you’d call a corrupted mind,” the hunter retorted, threateningly waving his finger at him. “So, don’t ever talk about this again.”

 

“Fine. I didn’t think you’d be so easily embarrassed,” Sam replied in an irritated tone

 

“Just snap yourself clean,” the human ordered, waving a hand at him as he disentangled himself from the sheets.

 

“And now?” the taller asked a moment later.

 

“Now, if you’re done puking, I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to join me,” Gabriel wryly responded.

 

                Sam blinked. That was one of few flirtations he understood, one he’d personally been taught. Both through words and by demonstration.

 

Sam leaned forwards in a rush, kissing Gabriel for everything he was worth. Sam finally felt the contact he’d been starved of for months, leaning into the hunter like he’d disappear if he backed away. A hand tangled in the hunter’s hair, the other cupping the jaw of the face he loved so much.

 

It wasn’t like he remembered. The details were different. Instead of blood and fire, Gabriel smelled like whiskey and leather and juniper from the cheap cologne on the counter. He tasted like sugar, felt like a furnace, but looked exactly as perfect as he did in the images Sam had committed to memory.

 

                There was a short moment where he thought Gabriel was going to return his touch. Instead, the hunter just ripped away, shoving him harshly with wide eyes.

 

“What the hell was that?!” Gabriel demanded, eyes wide as he backed up.

 

                Sam tilted his head, his eyes flashing with a series of emotions.

 

“I was talking about sleeping, not sleeping together!” Gabriel snapped after the realization struck him.

 

“I… misinterpreted your intentions. I’m sorry. Uh, I’m going to go.”

 

                What hurt most was that Gabriel didn’t even try to stop him.

 

                But that was only after Sam added,

 

“I have no illusions, Gabriel. Just… make your choice and I’ll respect it. Just pick a lane.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an incredibly long time in the making. It's like the more free time I have on my hands, the less likely I am to update. Well, good news. I have no free time anymore. It's like I update only out of spite towards my schedule.
> 
> On another hand, I'm pretty psyched to release this latest chapter! It might seem a little slow in comparison to some of the others, but it's building up to the final sprint. And I'm psyched about how things are going to turn out. But, no more spoilers for now! I'm going to work on Chapter 3 for my other Sabriel fic, then I'll get back to this word. If I don't update within two weeks, start endlessly harrassing me until I do.
> 
> And as always, please leave your comments! Really, you've got no idea how much they mean to me. Especially at this time of night. Once more, I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hope it was worth it! 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get yourself some tissues, sweetheart. I hope you've gotta use 'em.

**Chapter 19**                

 

               Gabriel hated praying. It was like he was admitting things were beyond his control, that he couldn’t handle the stresses of his life anymore. It felt like a surrender to ask for help from anyone, let alone an angel who legitimately cared about him.

               Of course, the best part of praying had to be steadily becoming the worst. Whether or not Sam thought the same, Gabriel felt like the terms they were on grew more strained all the time.

Thankfully, Sam had spared him the embarrassment of begging for help the past couple months. He’d drop in just frequently enough to take the edge off Gabriel’s worry. Just staying long enough to give him a brief update, he’d linger a few moments like a kid gathering the courage to ask a date to prom. But he always vanished before he could ask the hunter to the proverbial prom, leaving Gabriel in a state of confusion on whether or not it was him who was supposed to say something.

                To complicate matters, the angel’s conditioned worsened every time Gabriel saw him. Sprains and shallow slashes to the side had escalated to dislocated joints and crushed fingers. And from there, he’d gotten a shattered kneecap, puncture wounds to a lung from broken ribs, and a stab wound to the thigh.

                Still, Sam soldiered on without complaint. He never even bothered wasting energy healing his own injuries unless he was forced to. Of course, the worst of his wounds was one that wasn’t tangible.

                Gabriel wished the worst of the damage to the angel would just stay limited to his physical self. Because no matter what news Sam brought, it always seemed as if his eyes were just a little duller than the last time he’d seen him. Apparently, reality could take a toll even on the most hopeful of humans and angels alike.

                But of course, the world just had to toss an even more worrisome problem at him than Sam’s deteriorating state. And of course that problem would be his brother.

                Castiel… He wasn’t sure what was going on with Castiel anymore. Over only a period of months, he’d gotten progressively snappier. His smiles, a precious commodity even before, had become even more of a rarity. And during hunts, a glint of gleeful savageness had become more prominent each and every time there was a promise of a fight.

                His sweet baby brother was progressively more bloodthirsty, fighting viciously and brutal whenever the chance presented itself. And, okay, maybe Castiel wasn’t really sweet or a little kid- and he was a hunter, so those last three things were to be expected. But the degree to which he’d taken those traits was overzealous, even for a trained monster killer.

                And he’d just become detached. He acted condescendingly towards victims, almost cruelly. He was nonchalant about the lives in his hands and the consequences of what he did. The number of lives lost had become troublingly high the past few hunts. Not that Castiel seemed to give a damn about that.

                He disappeared for whole nights doing thing that Gabriel hated to theorize about. He came back disheveled and colder than before, wordless and dead to the world for hours at a time.

                perhaps most worrisome of all, his already fragile sanity seemed to be steadily deteriorating. Laughing sporadically at unspoken jokes, quiet musings mumbled under his breath to no one in particular, and strange fits of unspeakable anger to name a few.

                Gabriel would’ve been lying if he said that this bodysnatching imposter of his brother scared him more than anything that had lurked in his closet.

                It became blatantly apparent that he needed a specialist’s help after Castiel had turned down an opportunity to talk about their feelings several minutes earlier when he’d brought up his brother’s concerning change in attitude. His brother had then taken a long swig from a flask, announced he was going out, then slammed the door so hard that Gabriel worried for the sake of the poor motel’s shaky infrastructure.

“Hey, Sam. Have a moment to-,” Gabriel paused when fabric fluttered behind him.

                The hunter jerked around with a curse on his lips. He traded it in for speechlessness when he saw Sam’s condition. The pallid color of his gaunt face was only disturbed by the hues of bruises blossoming beneath his skin and the yellow tint of the skin surrounding a partially healed broken nose. Two of his fingers were bent at an odd angle. There seemed not to be a square inch of skin without some kind of grievance done to it.

                When good news was the first thing from his bloodied lips, it nearly impossible to accept that such a thing still existed.

“What do you mean the seals have stopped breaking?”

“There’s sixty-six seals that have to be broken before Lucifer’s sprung free, right? And Sixty-five have been broken. Despite everyone’s best efforts, there were just took many paths for Lilith to take.”

“Well, shit, Sam. You should be a fucking cheerleader,” the hunter sarcastically drawled, hiding the disquiet in his voice.

                Gabriel pointedly ignored the unwelcome image his mind produced of Sam shoved into a skimpy skirt and a top that was hardly more than a bikini.

“In the past several days, nothing important has happened,” Sam explained as if that would magically clear everything up.

                Gabriel tilted his head. Obviously the news was supposed to be encouraging, but all the hunter could see was a nuke in its final stages of countdown. The air suddenly rang out with funeral bells, blood thumping in his ears like a drumbeat call to arms.

“So, they’re biding their time,” he deduced.

“Or they’re waiting to make a big move.”

“And do you know what the move is?”

“Well… no,” Sam admitted. “The exact details are still unclear. I wasn’t supposed to find out because I had a _volatile_ record, so no one would tell me what it was. And though I’ve been asking around, somehow I’ve become a pariah. Not that this wasn’t to be expected, but I thought that at least some of my brothers would at least listen to me. I must’ve been had my reputation completely slandered in Heaven to be thought of as so incredible.”

                The smile slowly faded from his face as he spoke, morphing gradually into a frown.

“That’s what you’ve been doing? Hunting after other angels?”

“Among other things. They’re just about the only credible sources of information available.”

“Is that who did… _this_?” Gabriel asked, reaching out to brush a hand across Sam’s forehead, brushing his overgrown bangs away. His tone shook at the end with anger.

                Sam forced himself not to lean into the touch. He instead stepped back and gave a noncommittal shrug. Gabriel withdrew his hand as if burned, shoving it into his pocket. The hunter emerged with a lollipop. He shoved it into the side of his mouth, turning as he announced,

“Sorry, but I’ve got to take a page out of Cassie’s book and ask where the good news in all of this is.”

“You’re the final seal,” Sam animatedly whispered, leaning in closely like they were little girls sharing secrets at a sleepover.

                Gabriel still didn’t see where the good news was supposed to be. That sounded pretty far from a blessing. He was tired of all the shit the angels had dragged him through. And the only one who gave a damn got treated worse than a friggin’ dog.

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever the final seal is, you’ll be the one to break it.” Sam backed away, a grin splitting his face in two. “That’s what it’s got to be. You started it, so you must be the one who ends it. Obviously, they wouldn’t want be to know about that, seeing as… seeing as I was the one who rescued you from Hell.”

                Gabriel frowned.

“So, I’m probably going to break an unspecified seal at an unspecified time and location because there’s been silence on the angel radio?”

                Sam’s brow furrowed.

“I liked the way I said it better,” he remarked.

                Gabriel had once been something of an optimistic. But like even the greatest of things, his optimism had gradually been chipped at with the passage of time.

                Sam had never known Gabriel before the twinkle in his eyes that suggested he saw the world in a more interesting way than most had already gone out. He one day hoped that he would live to see it rekindle itself. He desperately wanted to say that, to remind Gabriel of the time when such a prospect hadn’t seemed all that far away.

                And now, it was an insurmountable distance away.

“Sam, you can’t trust me. I’m just going to let you down. I can’t let everything you’ve done be for nothing.”

                There it was, that forlorn look on Sam’s face. H longed for that look of sheer sadness to be directed towards anyone but him. But he was the only who merited it, anyways.

                He was certain Dean’s warning towards him hadn’t been the first. But here he’d gone and ignored all of them.

                He had ruined Sam. He had ruined his life. Sam had a chance at being happy and whole. Then Gabriel had gone and made him throw it away. And to make things worse, he was too broken to even follow through on whatever promise he’d had to have made to the angel that Sam was acting on. He’d ruined everything.

                He’d made a habit of doing that, hadn’t he?

                The hunter had done the same with his brother. He could be traced to be at fault for what had happened to Dean, too. So not only had he screwed over the archangel, but he’d also ruined one of the first things that had made Castiel happy in a truly long time. And with Sam… well, there wasn’t much more he could do to fuck up the poor angel’s life, was there? He’d lost his home, his family, his status, everything.

                Sam muttered something under his breath, his expression incredulous. It wasn’t necessary to read Gabriel’s mind to see his thoughts when they were so clearly on display to anyone who even vaguely knew him.

“What?”

“You’re blind,” Sam repeated, eyes darkening. “There’s no one who hates you more than yourself.” _And there’s no one who loves you more than me_ , he silently added. “I’m not a prophet, Gabriel. There are many promises I can’t keep. But I can promise that there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you and there’s nothing that can stop me from doing just that.”

                It was the sheer intensity and truth to his words that made the elder Novak fully accept what he’d suspected for so long.

“You were in love with me,” Gabriel deadpanned, his voice uncharacteristically flat.

                His mind short-circuited. He wasn’t worth the dirt he walked on, let alone anyone’s love. Hell, sometimes he wished that Castiel didn’t care a quarter as much about him as he did. That the kid could walk away without looking back and make a better life for himself that whatever one he’d get sticking with him.

                Gabriel hadn’t even considered the prospect of romance beyond a one-night stand since he’d left Hell. There wasn’t a single human on Earth that he could make truly happy, let alone earn the love of.

                Not to mention an angel. That was completely unfathomable.

                And so maybe had been more than obvious with the way that Sam looked at him, like he was so deserved the whole damn world and whatever else he wanted. But to hear him say it out loud was something different. Prolonged stares and little touches, quick brushes of their hands that vanished before Gabriel could fully even register them. The way Sam understood personal space around everyone but him.

                Most of all, the way he’d left his life behind to protect a planet that wanted to end it itself and to watch over the hunter that had taught him how to see.

                It was cruelly ironic that when Sam had finally opened his eyes, Gabriel had looked right past him.

                But now the hunter stared directly at the angel with unreadable eyes and a face that was strangely void of emotion.

                Sam quietly breathed out, steadying his voice to confirm the three words that had been bouncing around his skull ever since he’d first laid a hand on Gabriel Novak.

“I still am.”

                And there it was. That was it.

                Gabriel had gotten his confirmation. Now he could politely turn him down and move on with his life with someone normal. Someone who wasn’t a grieving, doubting wreck. No amount of masquerading could convince Sam that he was actually adjusted.

                His brother was dead. His grace was failing him. He understood next to nothing about human culture. The only human he’d ever had a chance of understanding was incomprehensibly damaged because of his family and his own failures. There wasn’t hope for him, but maybe, just maybe he could pass on something to Gabriel if he put on a brave smile.

                So that was what he did.

“And I… I was in love with you,” Gabriel replied.

 “Though I guess you’ve figured it out by now, it was important you came out of Heaven with a clean slate.”

                That was when his voice cracked.

“Oh,” was all the hunter could manage.

                When he at last turned around again, he looked every year of his impossible age.

“And I didn’t want to go on without you. So I convinced you to come after me.”

“Is that what you called me here for?”

“Sam…”

“No. It’s alright. I understand where things lie now. There’s no need to delve into it any further.”

                Sam gave him a pained plea of a smile. Its meaning was clear to Gabriel.

                It made him angry. He wanted Sam to delve into the details. He wanted them to fight if that was what it took. He wanted anything from Sam but this longsuffering resignation.

                He wanted this. This, this _thing_ between them. He wanted it. He wanted Sam, flaws and all to be the last and first thing he saw every day. He wanted to be happy, to be happy with Sam. He wanted to allow himself this one thing that he knew could make him happy in a way he hadn’t been for a such a long time. He’d had these things before- even with a bum memory, he was certain of that much- and he longed for them again.

                And he nearly took it. Nearly reached out and grasped Sam, pulled him tightly towards and him, allowed himself a brief respite from all the shit the world never stopped throwing at him.

                He was so close. But his mind caught up with his heart before he could act.

                No. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve sleepy smiles in the morning or happy domesticity or whatever the hell Sam thought that he, Gabriel Novak, could give him. Besides, whatever reason he’d had for taking it before couldn’t be relevant any longer. He wasn’t the same sadist he’d been in Hell. Or maybe he still was, his mind helpfully chimed in. 

And if that was true as he feared it to be, he couldn’t subject Sam to that again. He’d just go and break him all over again.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, having noticed the change of emotions that had taken place on the human’s face.

                There was so much wrong, but there was only one thing that Gabriel had in mind when he’d called Sam there.

“It’s Cas, Sam. I don’t know what to do. I think he’s dying. I tried to keep him here, tied him down even. But he broke out the moment I was gone for five minutes. I can’t find him. I’m afraid-.”

“Afraid of what?”

“I’m afraid that he’s going to do something that’ll kill him.”

                Sam nodded, like that was something that he’d thought about himself. Indeed, he actually had. Castiel’s change in demeanor was one that was difficult to go unnoticed.

“There’s nothing that shows there’s anything strange with him. Our kind of strange, anyways.”

“Sam, there’s got to be. You don’t know him like I do.”

“And if there isn’t?”

                The rest of the angel’s uneasy sentence was unspoken, but rung out clear as a bell. _What if this is just who he’s becoming?_

 “I’m afraid, Sam.”

                He almost reached out to pull Gabriel tightly to him. He almost whispered reassuring words in Enochian, their meaning universal despite the barrier of language. Sam almost told him that he loved him.

                He stopped himself just in time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Ever since Castiel could string together a sensible though, he’d wake up telling himself that things would get better. That it would finally be the day their father would finally follow through on his long-lived promise that they’d at last get a permanent place, that they’d stop living off greasy diner food. That he’d finally let his youngest son spend afternoons playing sports for whatever school he was enrolled in that month instead of practicing with his double-barreled shotgun- the only present he’d gotten on his tenth birthday.

                He’d stopped believing things would ever change- let alone get better- somewhere along the way. Probably after college. He stared at the ceiling and thought of the ring he still tucked away in the pocket of his duffel that he refused to let an unknowing Gabriel touch. Yeah. Definitely after college.

How could things ever get better when he was damned to a life that squeezed the light right out of the eyes of everyone around him? Especially when that sentence could be used so literally.

                When Castiel at last disentangled himself from the sheets, he felt sickened. He felt sickened to the stomach and with himself alike. He struggled to keep the bile from rising past his throat, the metallic tang of iron still nauseatingly fresh on his bloodstained lips.

                The younger Novak shambled to the bathroom. When he rinsed his mouth out with water, the liquid falling past his lips was stained pink, clearly visible against the white backdrop of the porcelain sink.

                It was he could do to keep himself from retching up everything he’d ever eaten into the sink right then and there.

                When Castiel at last gathered the courage to force himself to look at his reflection, he wished Gabriel had left him to burn. He wished he’d never been dragged away from the flames, wished he’d just sunk into the floor and let them consume him.

                It would be a mercy. He’d never considered his life to be worth much, but he was hardly worthy of this.

                No. This couldn’t be happening. He refused to accept it. Though his vision wavered, his denial kept him grounded. That and the steady trickle of blood dripping onto the floor. It was noise he was more than used to by now.

                Castiel looked down at his fists. He’d clenched them so hard his nails dug at least a quarter inch into his raw palms. Red oozed from beneath his discolored fingernails, falling in rivers down to the yellowed tiles of the bathroom floor. They suddenly registered the pain he’d inflicted on himself, each half-crescent feeling like it had been burned into his skin like a brand.

                He didn’t look at his reflection again. He ignored Ruby’s calls after him, keeping his head ducked low as he rocketed out the door. Then he ran until his legs couldn’t carry him a step further.

                The pass of time was indeterminable. It had been dark when he had emerged running from the room and now it was light, but the hunter knew little more than that. As for the where part of the equation, he was curled tightly in a ditch somewhere off the interstate. It was all vague. There was a small part of him that hoped the entire thing had been a hallucination brought on by an overactive imagination. Most of the rest of him disagreed.

                It didn’t matter how much time passed, really. Maybe if he stayed there long enough, he’d just melt into the earth. Gabriel would probably look for him for a while, but he’d eventually have to move on. He was better off alone, anyways.

                His mind was the only part of him that remained in motion. Each of limbs had gone stiff and sore from disuse by the time he heard a voice coaxing him to stand.

“It’s alright, Castiel. This was to be expected.”

“Dean,” the hunter said in a voice that even he recognized as small.

                It was a prayer, a plea, a refusal. All of those things wrapped into a single word. Castiel was too weak to even stand. He instead rolled onto his side, pushing himself into a kneel of sorts. The hunter stared up at the archangel with a face contorted with such turmoil and hopelessness that it was a sin in itself. He need to open his tightly shut eyelids for Dean to see what was so clearly written across his face.

“It’s alright, Cas,” the archangel reaffirmed him.

                Dean clasped his hand and used his other to cup the hunter’s face. Neither ever said aloud that things were far from alright. It remained unsaid, but not unheard.

The crevices in Castiel’s palms healed over with the archangel’s touch. His muscles ceased their exhausted trembling. Something that had been coiled tightly inside of him unfurled, stretching itself out. There was a brief moment of peace.

It all faded away when he stood and Dean’s hands dropped back to his side.

                But despite all of Dean’s efforts, when Castiel forced himself to meet his eyes, they were just as empty as his soon. It was unnerving how someone’s face could look so kind, so supportive, but yet have eyes like those of a heartless predator.

“You’re doing the right thing.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Castiel protested. “I’m not even human. How can I…?” he trailed off in a broken echo of a voice.

“It’ll be over soon,” the archangel assured him.

                The human, against his better judgement, leaned in to embrace him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He clutched onto him like Dean was the last thing keeping him grounded. Though his body shook slightly, no tears fall from his eyes.

                It was only Castiel’s quiet resignation that made Dean feel what he knew was doubt for the first time as far as his nearly infinite memory extended.

A beacon of a soul dimmed into little more than a diffused glow. Something so gorgeous in the most unexpected of places. Like some hidden gemstone in a field of pebbles. Except Castiel’s soul had been pulverized into little more than dust. Notwithstanding all of this, somehow love still stemmed from some corner of his now tattered soul. As for the rest of it…

                He’d done to Castiel. This damage was on him. He’d punished this human and pushed him until he’d fractured so deeply it was unlikely he could ever be repaired. He’d ignored his father’s teachings and turned him away from salvation onto the path of darkness instead.

                Castiel still had faith. Not in himself, but in Dean and Sam and his broken brother. Faith that somehow they’d cobble something useful out of ashes to stop the angels’ apocalypse. Faith that there could be a happily ever after for everyone excluding himself.

                When he returned Castiel’s embrace out of sheer instinct, there was a flicker of light in his shadowed bits of his soul. It was extinguished when Dean pulled away and promptly disappeared with his mind in a haze of uncertainty and his mind straining to recall what exactly he was doing this all for.

                Castiel drew away from the empty space an archangel had stood moments before. He shivered. Cold suddenly bit at him, chilling to the bone. He didn’t even notice the car pulling up beside him.

“Cas? The hell’s going on with you?”

                He craned his neck to see Gabriel’s strained face peering at him from inside the Impala.

“What are you doing out here?” His brother’s judgmental gaze swept him up and down. Judgmentally and with no lack of disdain, he added, “In your pajamas.”

                Gabriel’s eyes were frightened, but not nearly as much as they should’ve been. Not for the right reasons. They saw him, but not quite all of him. They saw what the illusion wanted him to see. Not some twisted, gnarled thing that wore the skin of someone who’d once been his brother.

Castiel turned back to the ditch and vomited, mostly out of disgust with himself.

When his retching stopped, Gabriel was by his side. When his knees buckled beneath him, his brother was there to steady him. And when his legs failed, he was there to guide him into the Impala.

Even though he was right there, Gabriel might’ve been shouting at him from worlds away. Castiel squinted at him, the blood thrumming in his ears drowning out everything else. At least the pain provided him something to focus on. Something other than what was happening beneath the surface.

                It felt like termites were crawling under his skin, like electricity was buzzing through his body, icy heat coating him like a stain he couldn’t quite scrub out. It felt like he was caked with dirt, this thick sheen of impurity he couldn’t ever get off. Everything he touched died and withered away beneath his fingertips. He drained the life from everything around him.

                And no matter how powerful he felt or how righteous this was supposed to be, Castiel hated himself when in the mirror he caught sight of black eyes that were his own.

“You should’ve let me burn,” Castiel rasped, not nearly delirious enough for Gabriel to convince himself that he didn’t mean it at least somewhat.

                He passed out and dreamed of the world burning at his hands.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                It was a routine hunt, the kind any half-wit hunter worth their salt could do in their sleep.

                But somehow, it had ended with a steel fire poker impaling Castiel’s kidneys.

“Sam, where are you? C’mon, I need you!” Gabriel shouted at the partially empty room.

                One hand fumbled with his shotgun, sloppily firing rounds at the advancing poltergeist. The other clumsily was slapped over Castiel’s gut. It was just about the last thing keeping Castiel’s soul in his body. Gabriel pressed down on the wound with such force that the cracking noises he heard probably weren’t benign. Nonetheless, it didn’t seem to do be doing much to staunch the blood leaving the younger hunter’s body.

“Gabriel,” he gasped out, “Go.”

                He weakly tried to bat his brother’s hand away. That movement alone sent him gasping for air, eyes rolling backwards into his head.

“Shut the hell up and let me work my magic,” Gabriel snapped.

                Then the ghost was looming above them.

“This bitch needs a bell,” Gabriel muttered, swinging the barrel of his shotgun upwards.

He shot the apparition point-blank. Well, he would’ve if there’d been any bullets left. Instead, there was just a dull click.

                The ghost bared broken, browned teeth twisting into something like a sick smile.

“You know, it’s never too late to schedule a cleaning,” Gabriel blithely remarked, trying to draw her attention away from his already comatose brother.

                Ghosts don’t have a sense a humor- something the elder Novak had learned the hard way during many years. Unfortunately, this one wasn’t an exception to the rule. The older hunter was callously tossed across the room.

                He landed hard and awkward on his wrist, the only thing that kept him from flying straight through the wall. With a sickening crunch, he felt the bone snap and… On the ground, he let a long string of curses fly loose. That jagged thing sticking out of his wrist absolutely wasn’t his radius bone. He experimentally lifted his numb arm. Idiotically, he attempted to flex it. The effort sent him doubling over and vomiting with stars flashing across his vision.

                Focus. He needed to focus on something other than the gore soaking through his sleeve. Castiel was out of commission. That meant this was up to him. He scrambled to pull his iron pocket knife from its holster in his sock, fumbling to flick out the blade with his left hand.

                The ghost- her patience expended- screeched and charged him.

“A hand, anyone?!” Gabriel shouted when the knife dropped from his trembling hand.

                Three feet away from snapping his neck, the spirit stopped short.

“You should play nice,” came a threatening growl of a voice from the other side of the room.

“Sam,” Gabriel mumbled, his voice awash with relief.

                Sam was here. It would be alright. He would save them. He always did, always would. He’d promised that. The elder hunter allowed himself to drift away entirely, the phantom sensation of strong arms wrapping around him and carrying him to safety.

                It was not Sam who had come to his rescue. In fact, it was just about the polar opposite.

                Castiel stood on the other side of the room, his muscles locked tightly. One arm extended, narrowed eyes a sinister shade of black.

                The ghost turned around just in time to be engulfed in blue flames. Though she briefly ricocheted around the room in a blazing inferno, she disintegrated into nothing more than dust within moments. The younger Novak’s lips upturned into a baleful smile. Flames licked up and down his arm, sparking like fireworks. No burn accompanied them. Just a sense of raw, unyielding power.

                It was only then that Sam appeared, just in time to see the tail end of the spectacle.

                Castiel’s neck snapped to him with an unhealthy crack. They faced off, both waiting to see who would break the heavy tension between them.

                It was Sam who acted first.

                The angel’s first instinct was to reach out. He stepped forward to expel the demon possessing the hunter. Castiel only stared up at him with a pitiful expression, his head crooked slightly to the side.

                When that failed and his hand was simply plastered to Castiel’s icy forehead, fear set in.

“No,” Sam murmured. “That’s impossible.”

                He backed away. Only then did he catch sight of the quarter sized hole ripped in his abdomen. Crimson contrasted sharply with the crisp white of his shirt, staining a vivid pattern that soaked through even his trench coat.

“You’re dead,” Sam declared.

                Castiel looked down. He had no visible reaction other than a small crease in his brow.

“So I am.”

                He turned around like this was some casual occurrence, then walked to his brother.

                All thoughts of Castiel dissipated immediately when the angel caught sight of the blood pooling around his human.

“Gabriel. What’s wrong with Gabriel?” Sam breathed.

                He abruptly shoved by an incredulous Castiel, receiving an indignant look from the younger Novak in response.

“What happened?”

“He broke his arm,” Castiel deadpanned, the scathing scowl still seared on his face.

“I gathered that. How’d it happen?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel blithely retorted. “I was dead at the time. Presumably, it has something to do with the angry spirit we were hunting.”

                Sam reached out and cupped Gabriel’s face, lifting his chin. The bone in his arm violently jerked under the skin, straightening itself with several stomach-churning crunches. The skin sewed back together and snapped shut with a slurping sound. The ligaments and tendons visibly mended and twisted beneath the skin. Sam stood and took a step back.

“That’s disgusting,” Castiel remarked, his expression akin to the horrified fascination of a third grader in science class while they dissected a frog.

                The angel’s eyes went unfocused. Though Castiel took a step forwards as he strained to hear what Sam was mumbling, it all sounded unintelligible. The taller of the two swayed, then collapsed into the hunter’s arms. Castiel buckled under his weight, laying him down with little grace and much gawkiness.

                Sam was probably going to wake up and wonder how he’d bruised the back of his head.

“Fuck,” the younger Novak muttered, glancing between the two motionless stiffs. He pulled out his phone, waiting until the older hunter picked up before uttering, “Bobby, I’m coming over. Please have alcohol on standby.”

                Then he hung up and began the tedious project of dragging two unconscious grown men into a car.

                Somewhere halfway to Bobby’s house, Gabriel screamed out Sam’s name. The shriek alone startled both of them startled awake. They bashed into each other in an ungainly tangle of limbs, struggling to separate themselves. The backseat erupted into a frenzy of bashful apologies and blushing.

Castiel was faintly disgusted by it all.

“I didn’t sign up to chauffeur junior prom,” Castiel muttered from the front seat when at last silence reined.

                There was a pause in which Sam was characteristically confused and Gabriel was uncharacteristically humiliated.

                Partially he’d remembered the reason why they’d woken up, although the nightmare was quickly fading from his mind. Mostly, though, it was because he vaguely recalled the position in which they’d woken up. That better have been an accident or else Castiel was going to find glitter glued to every single one of his possessions.

“You didn’t even go to prom,” the older Novak finally commented.

“Because you slept with my date, assbutt,” the younger Novak snapped, his knuckles tightening around the wheel and a scowl spreading across his face.

                Gabriel frowned, looking as if he were about to form a protest. Then his face split into a grin, as he tilted his head to the side in a nod of recollection.

“Yeah. Can’t believe you hooked that guy,” he incredulously remarked. Quieter, but just pointedly loud enough to overheard, he amusedly whispered to Sam, “Telling you, had to be blackmail. Castiel couldn’t even ask out a chess player.”

                Castiel whipped across four lanes of traffic out of annoyance, sending Gabriel tumbling across the backseat, a hand grabbing onto Sam’s crotch as he skidded onto his lap. There was a moment of petrification in both of them. Then the older hunter yelped in surprise, leaping away as if he’d been burned. He scooted as far away as the seats would allow him, yanking his seatbelt across his chest.

 Sam pointedly took the opportunity to become interested in their passing surroundings.

“I thought you were some sort of advocate for seatbelt safety.” Gabriel frowned. “Can’t believe you even got us in here. Thought you were…”

                Castiel was deathly quiet. His eyes remained focused and steely on the road ahead.

                Sam uncomfortably shifted in his seat for more reasons that one when he felt Gabriel’s gaze boring into his.

                The change in mood didn’t go unnoticed by the one socially competent Novak, whose eyes darkened with worry.

“Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“It can wait.”

                His words were so chilled that Gabriel nearly shivered.

“Cas, the hell do you mean?”

“Just let me drive this last time, will you?” he snapped.

                There was a half-formed protest on his lips, but Sam gave him a pleading look. It quieted him instantly- no matter how hard he tried, he was certain those eyes would get him every time.

                Gabriel instinctually reached out to find Sam’s hand in the darkness. And judging by the lack of questioning on Sam’s part, he deduced it was far from the first time he’d done it.

               There was not another word was spoken for the entire drive.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                Gabriel wasn’t able to get out a word when they pulled up to the house. Instantly, Castiel had rocketed out of the car in a blur. Neither he nor Sam made a move after him, not at first.

“It’s best if you hear it from me,” Sam eventually murmured.

                No, this was it. This was the moment that he was going to lose Gabriel. This was the last time Gabriel would ever look at him with trust and something that was maybe a little bit like love. After this, it would be all hard with betrayal.

Sam knew the look. He knew that it would kill him every time he looked at Gabriel’s face to see it marred with such an expression. That it’d kill him even more to know that it was directed at him. He knew that he’d be willing to take it, too, if his happiness had to be sacrificed for Gabriel’s wellbeing.

“He’s on the blood. Demon blood, I mean. He’s strung-out. Not far from being one of them himself,” Sam blurted out.

                Like a flower wilting before his eyes, Gabriel’s face curled up with indescribable misery.

“What’s that...? What’s that mean?”

“It means that, you know… he drinks the stuff. It strengthens his powers, his potential as a… yeah. That sort of thing. And… and it makes him less than human if he drinks enough of it.”

“Less of a human and more of what?”

                Sam was quiet for a long time.

“And more of a demon.”

                Gabriel closed his eyes. With that, it all made sense.

                He wished he hadn’t known.

“Did you know?” he at last asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Sam finally breathed in response.

                He could see it. He could see Gabriel’s heart break. His face screwed up tightly. He shut his eyes and wheeled around. Him not being able to meet his gaze was even worse, Sam decided.

“How could you do this, Sam? How do you do that to him? To me?” Gabriel questioned in a wrecked voice.

“I mean, I thought he’d stopped. Months ago. Obviously, he hasn’t.”

“How the fuck could you just let that slide?” Gabriel screeched, his voice going up several octaves.

“It stopped being a problem once he quit! I wasn’t going to stress you out over something that resolved itself. And I- I trusted him. I thought he’d stopped if he ran the risk of you finding out. Because he knew that it’d break your heart.”

“And now he’s back on it? I don’t- I don’t fucking believe it. I can’t fucking believe it. You two have been… _conspiring_ behind my back!”

                Sam was quiet.

“Well, good job. Fan-fucking-tastic job. I… I don’t know, Sam. But if- if not breaking my heart was what you were trying to do, congratulations. You failed. Because not only Cas, but you too? I… I don’t think I can see you right now. Yeah. I can’t. I need to talk to Cas. I can’t believe it until I hear it from him.” 

                Gabriel only looked back once, but Sam was already gone.

                His presence was made known the second he entered the house. Even Castiel flinched when the doorway rattled in his wake. There was nothing quite as terrifying as his irate brother, no matter how small he was in comparison. When he stormed up to stand dangerously close to his younger brother, it was like they’d travelled back in time.

                Back to the time when Gabriel had hit his growth spurt early at fourteen, unaware that he wouldn’t grow another inch and Castiel, a full foot shorter, had to crane his neck to look up at him. A different but undeniably simpler time. Things like homework and dates had been the priority then.

                Gabriel faltered, his face falling as he looked at his brother. The blue eyes he’d always (secretly) admired had been stolen away, replace by ones that saw through you.

“You’re screwing with me. Tell me you’re screwing with me.”

“Gabriel…”

“No, Cas. You don’t get it. You’ve gotta me that this is a joke. That I didn’t let my little brother turn into this under my watch. C’mon. Tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

                Castiel forced himself to hold his gaze.

“Please. You gotta give me something, man. You’re my brother. Don’t let me think that dad was right about you,” the older of the two gravely spoke.

Gabriel sounded desperate to believe otherwise, but it wasn’t hard to hear that he’d already found his own answer. It just wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.

                It shook his brother, even through the haze of unjustifiable anger that had clouded his mind for months. It was the first thing he’d heard that had truly gotten through to him. But he was too far on this path. He had to carry on now. He couldn’t stop, not even if he wanted to. The blood had made sure of that.

                Castiel was too done with everything to be apologetic or even upset. Instead, he chose to be angry.

“You started it,” he groveled.

“What are we? Kindergarteners? Is your brain fried too?” Gabriel demanded, jaw gritted.

“Oh, on the contrary. My mind’s never worked better. Now I can see things that much more clearly.”

“Tell me, Cas. What do you see?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah. Let it all go.”

                Gabriel spread his arms wide, a sardonic smile spread across his bitter face.

                Castiel had originally intended to answer with seething words, but the anger he’d tried holding back for so long crashed over him and consumed him. He instead responded by landing a punch so solid to his jaw that it reverberated all the way up through Castiel’s arm, sending tremors up through his arm straight into his shoulder and back. Gabriel sailed backwards, crashing against Bobby’s desk.

                He recovered quickly, then charged at Castiel and tackled him to the floor.  

                From there, it just erupted into chaos. It took all of Bobby’s strength and multiple warning bullets to rip them apart. They were both brutally beaten, eyes already swelling and blood dripping from every orifice on their faces. Blood was beneath their nails, gathering in their throats. Gabriel wheezed, trying to catch his breath to recover from the blow he’d taken to the throat.

“The hell is wrong with you idjits?”

“Bobby, look at him! That’s not Cas! I don’t know who the hell it is, but it certain as hell isn’t Cas!” Gabriel shrieked.

“Boy, you better shut up. If we’re going to-!”

                Castiel’s jerked away from Bobby’s hands, grabbed his coat from the rack and stormed out.

“I have no interest in this,” he declared, storming towards the door despite Bobby’s threatening calls after him.

“Castiel, if you leave… If you leave, don’t you ever come back,” Gabriel gasped after him.

                The younger Novak never paused once. He just shouted over his shoulder.

“I can live with that. You just fuck everything up anyways.”

                The entire house seemed to shake when Castiel slammed the door, tearing away in a junk car with supernatural speed before either even had enough time to go after him.

                There was a resounding silence.

                Bobby looked like he was a dying man. Though he stayed quiet, his distress was apparent. A glass of rotgut hadn’t strayed far from Bobby’s hand the moment they’d walked through the door, though it now lay shattered on the floor. It must’ve fallen sometime during the fight.

“I’m going to go get more liquor,” Bobby declared.

                That was a plan that Gabriel could get behind.

“Gabriel?” the older hunter asked after a pause, his back turned.

“Yeah?”

“You shouldn’t have done that. You need to go after him.”

“I won’t. He left. It was his choice.”

“You push him away and you know what’ll happen?”

“What?”

“Neither do I, but it sure as hell ain’t going to be good. And if you’re going to sit here bitching, then I’ll going to go after the kid alone. Like or not, he stills needs us.”

                Then Gabriel stood alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Do you think I should talk to him?”

                Three weeks. Three weeks of constant second-guessing. Three weeks of supporting Castiel’s seemingly endless emotional needs. Even for something akin to a demon, he was still the most sensitive person Dean had ever met. Or so he thought- he hadn’t really cozied up to any humans before.

“Perhaps if I look normal…” Castiel murmured.

                Of course, unbeknownst to both of them, the fluctuation in the veil wasn’t a mere accident brought on by Castiel’s temporary death. And unbeknownst to Castiel, he hadn’t actually been brought back by the angel- but rather, by the simple rule being that demons could survive copious amounts of damage to their vessel. Or something like that. His case was a rare one, so which rules applied where still unclear to both the angels and actual demons alike.

                But his appearance didn’t matter, because down below, some things refused to be erased. Dean was really getting tired of the whole feelings thing. If he wasn’t coaxing the blood down Castiel’s for his own goals, then it was to just stop his incessant bitching.

“I don’t know, Cas.”

                Dean was a question away from screaming until the entire East Coast was deaf. Though he still wore an almost parental tone of patience, his face displayed an entirely different sentiment- the sentiment of wanting to set Castel alight with holy fire. Fortunately, Castiel didn’t look at anybody much nowadays.

                Even though Dean had restored his body and the veil that hid what he was truly was becoming, the hunter was still was conscious about his eyes. Being the one who was concealing his appearance, Dean could still clearly see them for the deep onyx they were.

                Dean could see how much effort it took for Castiel to lift his head. He could see the self-loathing that had been building inside of him for so long. A quick glimpse at the hunter’s thoughts confirmed that his mind was just awash with insecurities as it had been the last time Dean had tried to reassure him.

                It was almost sinful how much Castiel cared for his brother.

                In some off-hand way, it reminded Dean of himself. How, he wasn’t quite sure. He hadn’t ever wasted time on rearing unruly siblings. They were beneath him, hardly worthy of looking directly at him without his permission- much less talking to him.

                And still, there was the resounding realization that in this way, he and Castiel were alike.

                It had to be his and Michael’s relationship that he felt was akin to Gabriel’s and Castiel’s, Dean decided. There was no other sensible option.

                He thought of how hard it would be for anyone to persuade him that Michael was betraying him and felt a pang of sympathy for the poor creature before him. No wonder he was so hard to sway.

Although now without Sam or Gabriel in the picture anymore, Dean had become Castiel’s sole confidant. He was making progress twice as fast as he had before. With him manning the wheel, there was little doubt that Dean would eventually warp the hunter into the right mindset.

“You don’t think he honestly wants me not to stay away permanently, do you?” the younger Novak asked, sounding so vulnerable and frail that it was almost impossible to realize he was a seasoned killer.  

“I don’t think he sees you as his brother anymore, Cas,” he answered, trying to force as much empathy into his tone as his voice would allow. “I think he sees that who you are now isn’t the kid he always looked after.”

                There it was again. That lingering sense of relevance. That his own words had something to do with his current position. Dean scoffed at himself. He had to making up problems that weren’t actually there.

                There was only one problem that was relevant at the moment and that was Castiel Novak. That problem was right in front of him, curled up into a whimpering, pathetic ball.

                It took him three seconds to find the problem. Castiel was sick again, coming down hard from an all-time high. Dean needed to find him another hit from an alternative source. The demon he’d regularly fed off of had been off the radar for a few days now.

                His back was turned, but it shook slightly every now and then to let Dean know he was still awake. It was only when a small choked noise escaped his throat that the archangel realized he was crying.

                Obviously he didn’t want his moment of weakness to be seen.

                So Dean let it pass unmentioned.

                Or at least, he tried to. He really did. But there was something inside of him that was aching for the human, despite so many sins. Despite being an abhorrence, there was something deep within Dean that ached for him.

                He stretched his wings behind him. Conformed to accommodate the size of his vessel, they still struggled to fit within the confines of the walls of the motel room.

                Though naked to the human eye, Castiel seemed to sense their presence. They wrapped around him, shielding him from the outside world. He calmed, slowly.

                And then for the first time in three weeks, he fell asleep easily.

                Only when Dean was certain that he was passed out did he stand and sit by the edge of his bed. He looked almost peaceful in sleep, were it not for the dark aura that had settled around him. His soul itself was so damaged it was nearly impossible to see the few bare strands of what it had once been between the stains of the blood and his grave sins.

                His face was waxy, burning to the touch. Even in sleep, his suffering refused to leave him. Soon, he was screaming, raw and bitter. He screamed Dean’s name so fearfully that somewhere within him, a chord was struck.

                Dean reached out to press two fingers to his forehead before he could stop himself.

                For the first time, his face was void of worry lines or that familiar squinty look he always seemed to be wearing. He looked peaceful. Like a dead man breathing.

                The archangel had almost committed it to memory when his mind overpowered his heart.

“No. He’s the enemy,” Dean murmured to himself, abruptly standing and pacing across the room.

                He stopped at the door, but couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder. A faint smile had crossed the sleeping man’s face. The archangel briefly argued with himself, then raged back across the room and returned his fingers to Castiel’s forehead.

                The scenery shifted and melted around him. The lines blurred, fuzzy and out of focus when they stilled. It wasn’t a clear memory, just a vague reconstruction of one. Or maybe an unfulfilled fantasy of some sort.

                A younger looking- or maybe just a more carefree- Castiel delightedly laughed. The sound was muted, like it was coming through water.

                Dean behind him, just out of sight.

                The world around him took form. Castiel’s outline became clear and the outline of a man beside him did as well. Dean flinched when he realized that the man was him.

                Castiel and the dream version of him spoke. Their words were unclear, but their meaning wasn’t key to understand what was going on. The real archangel understood enough from everything else to piece together what was going on.

                Castiel and the unreal him held hands, walking next to each other far more closely than what was required. It seemed to be a park that they were going through, although the scenery was blurry. Dean trailed after the couple, his brow furrowing more with each moment that passed. The duo briefly stopped at a fountain, each tossing a coin in. They briefly exchanged words, then kissed- much to Dean’s dismay and increasing confusion.

                Castiel broke away and glanced at a group of children as they ran by. He thoughtfully said something else to Dean, then they continued on their way.

                Dean didn’t miss the rings on their fingers.

                He let a rough curse in Enochian tumble from his lips before he could catch himself. It rang out clearly. Like a puddle being disturbed, ripples travelled through the artificially constructed world, causing everything to distort around them.

                He didn’t miss the glance that Castiel tossed over his shoulder and the confused stare that creased his face upon seeing the archangel standing there.

                Dean disappeared before any words could leave the human’s mouth, deeply unsettled with a pounding insistence in his mind that something was wrong.

                Shortly thereafter, Castiel woke up to an empty room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's become apparent to me that I'm a huge asshole. Well, I'm not sorry. But between this and MBM and the two Big Bangs I've signed up for and everything else in my life, I'm swamped. But still- you guys really have to harass me to make sure I update in a timely manner. Really. I don't get mad. I find it encouraging. And an encourage muse gets shit done. 
> 
> As always, please comment! I really do cherish each one and use them as fuel in the neverending writing machinery.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if this chapter fucked anyone up out there. But know that this was my goal. I'm a sadist. And a masochist, because... well, Twist and Shout. Anyways, thanks for reading!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide xx

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to a friend of mine. You know who you are.
> 
> By the way, fuck you. I can't believe you let me do this to myself.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Sighanide


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